The Games We Play
by sss979
Summary: Every job has calculated risks. This job just has a few MORE of them... WARNING: eventual ANGST with a side of emotional torture and possibly death. Optional "Interlude" rated M, all the rest is rated T.
1. Prologue

**THE GAMES WE PLAY**

AUTHOR: sss979  
TITLE: About Ashley (working title)  
RATING: PG-13 (subject to later increase)  
SUMMARY: Every job has calculated risks. This job just has a few MORE of them...  
WARNINGS: (eventual) ANGST with a side of emotional torture and possibly death.  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the A-Team.

**PROLOGUE**

Lieutenant Templeton Peck could extinguish the flame of a candle at 500 yards with a sniper rifle.

"Faaace?"

"Working on it."

And normally, the challenge would've been welcome. Normally the thrill of the tension in the atmosphere, in the air he breathed, in his very _blood_ would have served to focus him even more. He'd always worked well under pressure.

"You've got about ten seconds, Lieutenant." One would think, from the sound of his voice, that someone had just told Hannibal to go screw himself. Dead serious and threatening. It was a tone that Face could honestly say he hadn't heard since Vietnam.

"Do you want it done now?" he challenged. "Or do you want it done right?"

"Five seconds."

"_Stop_ it!" he hissed. _You're making me nervous._

Nervous? Oh, no. He was not nervous. He was appalled that the thought had even entered his mind. Finger on the trigger, tensed and ready, crosshairs set dead center on his target's temple... his hands had never been steadier, even if his palms _were _sweating. They always did before a shot. At least a shot this important. Life and death in his hands, at his disposal. It had been years since he'd set up a shot like this - over a decade since he'd felt this rush. Not since Vietnam had he shot to kill. But he was not nervous. It was not _in _him to be nervous.

"Face?"

So why hadn't he breathed in the last 60 seconds?

"Yes, Colonel?" he replied calmly, just loud enough to be heard over the hissing rain.

"What is _wrong_?" The tension in Hannibal's voice made the seriousness of the situation clear. Colonel John Hannibal Smith did not getnervous, either. No more than Face did. And if he ever did, he _sure _as hell didn't show it. It seemed strange that he was showing it now, but Face understood why. Increasing the pressure on him hadn't worked. Normally it would have been the last push he'd needed. If he'd ever needed a push.

Of course, the fact of the matter was, he hadn't ever hesitated on a shot for any reason other than the fact that he didn't have clearance. Until now. He had clearance. But in spite of that…

"I can't take the shot."

"What do you mean you can't take the shot?" Hannibal was clearly appalled at the thought. As well he should be. _Face _was appalled by the thought.

"I can't." He hissed in a breath through his teeth. A half-step away from hyperventilating, he felt like he was using only the very top part of his lungs to breathe. His diaphragm was paralyzed, his heart beating in his ears. He'd been doing so well at keeping his voice calm and measured. He _almost_ lost it there. But not quite. Steady. Calm. Patient. Breathe...

His heart was pounding well over a hundred beats per minute. Not enough oxygen for that much blood. He forced himself to breathe deeper, slower, pushing away that lightheaded confusion. The rain hitting his shoulders had already soaked through his clothes. Shards of glass in his palms dug deeper the harder he gripped his weapon, warm blood mixing with cool rain. His muscles ached from staying perfectly still in this same position for so long. But he didn't move.

"I can see her from here. Your path is clear."

That's not what he meant. "That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean, Lieutenant?"

That tone jarred Face's perfectly steady, perfectly calculated shot a few degrees to the left. Anger was not a genuine emotion for a colonel to show. It was a manipulative one. Part of the game meant to break any insubordinate soldier. And whatever he had been twenty minutes ago to Hannibal - friend, co-worker, teammate - right now he was nothing more than a perfectly trained Special Forces soldier with years of experience and aim better than 98% of his class. One who was making up excuses for why he _couldn't _take a shot.

He remained still, silent, unflinching, not breathing until his lungs screamed for air. His target stepped forward. One step. Then two. Face tracked perfectly, keeping his target dead center. The shot was so easy. But his finger hesitated on the trigger. It hesitated there, and wouldn't move.

This wasn't war. And even if it was… How could he take an innocent life? His mind wound around that, over and over again, wearing a rut in his thought processes. It wasn't just an innocent life. It was that _particular _innocent life. And if he pulled this trigger, there would be no looking back. _When _he pulled this trigger.

"Damn it!"

Because he _would _pull it. Just as soon as the nausea subsided.

He didn't have to take his eyes away from the scope. He heard Hannibal move to stand with his foot up on the ledge of the balcony, bracing his weapon, the long barrel of an assault rifle pointed in the general direction of the windows across the street.

"Don't," Face said flatly, his voice completely void of emotion. "They're out of range; you know that." There was no telling what he'd hit if he started shooting indiscriminately into the rain.

Hannibal didn't answer. He might not hit the target, but he would at least try. A target. Face _had _to remember that. That's all she was: a target and not a person. There was no life involved here. No guilt or innocence. Just a gun and a mark in the rain. Ten years ago, he would've had no problem making the distinction. After all, he knew he could hit a target at 500 yards because he'd _done _it before.

_Come on, Face. Just pull... _

"Face!"

He'd seen the blood, seen the men fall. He'd seen it up close, too. When the blood was on his shoes, his clothes... his hands. Images flashed, and his eyes narrowed as his heart pounded in his chest so loud, it nearly deafened him. He'd seen a lot of blood...

That innocence was blurring.

"Peck!" The sound of the familiar, commanding voice ringing in his ears made him lose track of the debate in his mind. "_Shoot,_ damn it!"

Ever-steady hands tightened ever-steady fingers and he felt the pressure of the trigger, the resistance. But he didn't hesitate. There was no room for hesitation. Nor regret. Nor emotion. Just obeying an order from his C.O.

Shoot her.

And the gun fired.


	2. Chapter One

**THE GAMES WE PLAY**

AUTHOR: sss979  
TITLE: The Games We Play  
RATING: PG-13  
SUMMARY: Every job has calculated risks. This job just has a few MORE of them...  
WARNINGS: (eventual) ANGST with a side of emotional torture and possibly death.  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the A-Team.

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Two Months Earlier**

Was it really morning already? The light on the other side of his closed eyelids seemed to answer that question. How had it gotten to be morning already? Face opened his eyes slowly and for a moment, he tracked the blades of the ceiling fan as they spun slowly, lazily. The quiet whirring of the fan, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the next room, and the sound of slow, measured breathing. He stretched, sprawling out on the bed. Warm, late spring air against his face and soft satin sheets against his skin, car exhaust and factory pollution coming through the window, the lingering scent of sex and perfume from the woman lying beside him. He turned his head toward her and smiled, reaching out to brush a few locks of hair out of her eyes. She was still asleep. He'd let her sleep for now.

He sat up and slid out of bed, careful not to disturb her. Without a sound, he gathered the clothes that had been strewn from the door of the room all the way to the bed. He almost fell over at the attempt. His equilibrium was all screwed up. Using the wall to regain his balance, he set the clothes neatly over the chair in the corner. Then he grabbed the silk robe off the back of the door and slipped his arms into it.

He was still trying to tie the robe around his waist as he stepped out of the room. His dexterity was a bit lacking this morning, as well. He worked the tie into some kind of a weird half-knot and reached back to click the door closed behind him. Two steps into the living room, he nearly tripped over the sofa and stumbled not so gracefully around it, banging into the coffee table instead. A few choice words escaped under his breath as he managed to regain his balance. He'd only been in this apartment for two days, and the placement of the furniture was still unfamiliar. It was not set up the way he would've placed it. But it seemed pointless to change it when he'd only be here for another three days. That was when, according to the calendar in the kitchen, Mr. Rudio's vacation would come to an end.

In the kitchen, he fumbled through the cupboards. Coffee. Where was the coffee? It was a brilliant creation, coffee. It had the power to make one's brain function again after ingesting a bottle and a half of wine the night before. Of course, it didn't do him a lot of good ground up in a can somewhere, waiting to be found. And until his brain began functioning, it was always a trick to find _anything_. Especially in an unfamiliar kitchen.

He didn't realize just how foggy his head was until he found himself noting that the percolating coffee sounded like gunfire in his ears. And he didn't realize how nauseated he was until a noise behind him made him spin so fast he almost hurled from the sudden movement.

"Morning, Face."

His groan was purely internal. "Don't you _knock_?" he demanded, only slightly irritated in spite of the fact that his personal space had just been violated. Hannibal reserved that right any time he knew where Face's personal space _was_. And that was most of the time.

Face reached up with one hand to massage his forehead, where it suddenly felt like there was a jackhammer pounding against the inside of his skull. Too much alcohol. _Way _too much alcohol.

"Take a look at that," Hannibal ordered, ignoring the question and instead tossing a manila envelope on the counter beside the coffeepot.

Face squinted at it, trying to get his eyes to focus. He didn't even bother to ask how Hannibal had gotten into the apartment. "What is it?"

"Our next client."

Face smiled, in spite of the fact that he didn't feel much like smiling. "And I was _just_ saying to myself, we don't have enough excitement in our lives. What with three whole days off in the past _month_..."

Hannibal smirked. "You'll like this one. She's cute."

Face chuckled at that, without humor. "Oh, well, that just makes it all worth it." He flipped open the folder and stared at the picture of the blond. "Cute," he repeated. He turned to the cupboard, searching for a coffee mug. "She looks like jailbait."

"December 5th, 1961," Hannibal rattled off.

Face shook his head, slowly enough to keep the vertigo at bay. "She doesn't look twenty-three."

"The picture's about a year old." Hannibal's voice rambled as Face finally found the cups. "We've had her file for a while now."

His vision still blurry, Face filled a cup with the first of the pot - the part that would be thicker than motor oil. He grabbed the folder with his other hand and stumbled toward the dining room table, past the colonel. "And you're just feeling particularly bored today?" he guessed, dropping the envelope on the table and sitting down.

Hannibal didn't sit. He remained standing in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe. "This is the third time she's tried to get through to us," Hannibal explained. "It's not the kind of thing we normally deal with and I'm not entirely sure what she expects us to do for her. But I'm willing to hear her out."

Face skimmed over the information in the folder. Photocopies of her birth certificate, driver's license, social security card, yearbook photos... Three handwritten letters that he didn't take the time to read. He'd read them when he could fully focus his eyes. "You already start the contact?"

"Yesterday."

"Jeff?" Face glanced up suddenly as the bedroom door opened and a woman stumbled forward, holding onto the frame for support. She looked like he felt. "I don't feel so good..."

He stood and crossed the living room, leaving the folder and the coffee on the table. If she even noticed Hannibal, she wasn't interested in who he was or why he was there.

"Murdock and a meeting place," Hannibal called as he headed for the door.

Face waved over his shoulder as he approached the unsteady, still-drunk woman and caught her just before she fell forward onto the floor.

***

_Cold spaghetti tastes good when it's smothered in peanut butter._

_Who the hell smothers spaghetti in peanut butter?_

_You should try it. It's tasty._

"Peanut butter and spaghetti-o's..." It was a random song with random lyrics, but it had been circling in his head for the past three hours. He was bored out of his skull.

_I have a really good recipe if you want it... _The conversation in his head rambled on.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't allow you to -"

"Are you questioning the authority of the United States government!?"

Murdock smiled, eyes closed, as he recognized the voice. The nurse would be better off not questioning the authority of the United States government. Bad things happened when one questioned the authority of the United States government. He knew. Firsthand.

"I'll need to see some kind of documentation before I -"

"Do you see this?"

Murdock stood and waltzed dramatically to the door, peeking out through the grate. He'd received no phone call, and had no role to play. That meant all he had to do was act normal. He was good at that.

He couldn't see the picture that Faceman, in an all-black suit, was holding up. But he could see the look of horror on the nurse's face. "This is the latest victim of the guy we're after. If _this _man in _this _room," he pointed directly at the door, "has any information that can lead to an arrest and prevent something like _this _from happening again, how _dare _you stand there and tell me that your policies take precedence!"

She opened her mouth to say something, but only managed to stammer through a few "buts" before the picture was tucked back into his inside jacket pocket. "Now are you going to release this patient to me or do I need to have _my _supervisor talk to _your _supervisor?"

Murdock grinned.

***

"Did you bring me peanut butter?"

"Why would I bring you peanut butter?" Face hit the button on the elevator, heading down to the ground floor. "You never _asked _for peanut butter."

"What about spaghetti-o's?"

"Is the hospital food _that _bad?"

"No, no, see... I wanna put the peanut butter _in _the spaghetti-o's and mix it all up real good." He animated his recipe, stirring a big imaginary pot. "Then let simmer for twenty-three minutes over low heat."

Face stared.

"I got the recipe from a friend of mine and he says it's just to _die_ for!" The elevator opened and Face pushed the wheelchair out into the lobby, heading for the front door. "I'll make enough for everyone! It's real easy to double the recipe. Oh, wait!"

Face didn't wait. He kept walking, pushing the wheelchair. "What is it?"

"I gotta go back! I forgot to leave a note for Pookie!"

"Pookie will understand." Who the hell was Pookie?

"But he'll worry about me!"

"I doubt that."

Once at the door, Murdock sprang to his feet and bolted out of the hospital at a full run. Face smiled and shook his head as Murdock ran circles around the trees. One hand in his pocket, he found the keys to the Corvette and walked towards it at his normal pace. He and Murdock reached the car at about the same time. "Feel better?" Face smirked, pausing before opening the door.

Murdock smiled back, a genuine smile that let Face know he fully comprehended both the question _and _his answer. "Absolutely."

"You know..." Face climbed into the car, closing himself in the car a moment before Murdock followed suit, "it's _your _choice to keep coming back here."

"Eh." Murdock shrugged, buckling himself into the passenger seat. "It's not so bad."

"Yeah, and you keep saying that." The engine roared to life as Face turned the ignition over. "And then you're asking me for peanut butter and spaghetti-o's."

"Have you ever _had _peanut butter and spaghetti-o's?" Murdock challenged.

"No, I... can't say that I have."

"Then you could not possibly comprehend the pure _pleasure _derived from the act of consuming them!"

Face rolled his eyes. "I don't think I want to know. Have _you _eaten peanut butter and spaghetti-o's?"

Murdock smirked. "Not yet." Without waiting for an answer, Murdock reached under the seat and grabbed the manila folder he knew would be there. "Who we got?"

"Ashley Carver," Face recapped. "She's tried three times in the past two years to contact us."

"What'd she do to catch our attention _this_ time around the bend?"

"Not sure." Face checked the road carefully before pulling out into the traffic. "Her letters are in there."

"This is the third time I am attempting to contact you," Murdock read aloud, holding the paper right up in front of his face.

Face glanced at him a little nervously. "Hey, careful those papers don't fly out the window, huh? That's her whole _life _in there."

"I have very sensitive information that is endangering my life. If this information falls into the wrong hands, it could be devastating for a lot of people. I need your help to protect this information, and myself, or people will die. Please help me, I have nowhere else to turn." Murdock lowered the paper. "Sensitive information?" he questioned, skeptical.

"Hannibal wants to hear her out," Face shrugged.

Murdock glanced over the other two letters, but found them uninteresting. It had to be the "sensitive information" bit that had caught the colonel's eye. All she'd said in the first two was something about needing to retrieve "an item." Using ambiguity as a smoke screen had always made them wary of a client. If she wanted something, she needed to at least say what it was she wanted. And why she wanted _them_. Of the three letters, she'd only just gotten around to that in her most recent one. "Sounds like she's needin' to talk to the friendly boys in blue, not us."

"Depends on what's in her 'sensitive information'," Face granted.

"Too bad." Murdock slapped the folder closed again and dropped it on the floor at his feet. "I was hoping for someplace interesting this time. Uruguay, maybe. Or Cambodia... maybe Antarctica..."

Face shook his head in disbelief. "I would appreciate it if you _didn't _give Hannibal any bright ideas for vacation spots."

Murdock grinned wickedly.


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

The box office was outside. That eliminated any hopes of getting into the theatre without being noticed. She couldn't get through the door without a ticket. She couldn't even see what was playing on the screen she was supposed to be going to. She breathed deeply as she set her shoulders back and approached the window with a confident smile that hid her anxiety.

"I need one ticket for whatever's showing in theatre three."

The man behind the glass stared at her as if she'd just grown a second head. "Huh?"

She cleared her throat, shifting uneasily. "Whatever is in theatre three," she repeated.

"Lady, that show started almost an hour ago."

She sighed. "I don't care. I just need one ticket, please."

"You're too late."

She stared at him blankly. Was he serious? "What?" she demanded.

"We have a very strict policy against people who walk into our theatres in the middle of a movie." He gestured as if that would somehow help her to understand better. "It's very distracting, you know. To have someone walking in in the middle of a movie."

Her eyes narrowed at the dark-haired man staring back at her. This had to be some kind of a joke. The irritation that had been building for over a week bubbled up, threatening to overflow. How unfortunate for him that he happened to be in her way right now.

"Look," she snapped, looking down as she rummaged through her purse. "I have been roaming around this city for more than a week now running here, there, and everywhere following these directions and _this_," she slapped the piece of paper against the window so that he could read the writing, "was the last instruction I got. It says theatre three at 8:00. It is 7:59. So I need to get into theatre three in the next sixty seconds. _What _is it going to take to get you to sell me this damn ticket?"

The man sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm sorry, I would appreciate it if you did not use profanity when speaking to me. It isn't polite."

Her jaw dropped. "Listen," she tried again, absolutely patient and calm. "All I want... is a ticket into that theatre. How 'bout I buy tentickets? Tell you what, I will _double _your sales for the night if you just please give me a ticket into that theatre."

"There a problem here?" The voice behind her made her spin around to see a man in a security uniform.

"No, no problem," she answered quickly. "I'm just needing to buy a ticket for whatever's showing in theatre three."

"Officer, could you please escort her off the premises?"

"What!" she cried. "No! I didn't do anything!"

"Come on, lady."

Her protests fell on deaf ears as he gripped her upper arm and escorted her away from the ticket booth. She was so busy protesting that it took her a moment to realize that they were heading for the front door and not the parking lot. She fell silent as he took her around the corner and out of sight of the ticket booth, then in through the side. "Where are we going?" she demanded.

They turned into a theatre on the right and he let go of her arm. She blinked, but started moving again as she realized he hadn't stopped. A half-step behind, she rounded the corner and stared up at the empty seats that rose up into the darkened theatre. Empty except for three. Stunned, she turned to look at the security guard who'd led her here just as he removed his mustache and, to her amazement, his hat and dark brown hair. The hair beneath the wig was white, and she recognized him immediately. "You!"

"Congratulations, Miss Carver," he smirked at her. "You've just found the A-Team."

***

"My father worked for the government."

Face was reclining, hands behind his head and feet up on the row of theatre seats in front of him. On either side of him, the rest of the team was just as relaxed. But the woman was pacing the dark aisle in front of them.

"One of the last things he did was..." She took a big breath. "There was a list. A handwritten list that he was supposed to transport from our office here in LA to the one in Washington."

"What kind of list?"

She breathed deeply again. "It had the names and personal information of all the people in California who were in witness protection." She paused in her steps and looked at each of them. "No one was supposed to even know about it. But someone found out and..." She hugged herself, resting her chin on her chest.

"Where is your father now?" Hannibal asked, clearly skeptical.

"They killed him."

"Who are 'they', exactly?" Hannibal demanded.

She looked up at him and shook her head. "I don't even _know_. But whoever they are, they find me wherever I go. I tried moving. Chicago, Portland, Miami... Changed my name... I kept going to the police but they just thought I was crazy. Everywhere I go, they're _there_. And sooner or later..." She trailed off.

Face and Hannibal exchanged skeptical glances, but let her continue. "He hid the list in a cave when he found out he was being followed. And he called me and told me where it was in case anything happened to him. They killed him because he wouldn't tell them where it was." She swallowed hard. "It took three years before anybody found his body. And then when I... I started making phone calls..." She stammered, choking back tears, "nobody knew anything about the list. Nobody would tell me anything. Nobody would even admit it existed."

Face eyed her carefully. "What, uh... branch did you say your father worked for?"

"He _never _talked about it," she sighed. "Ever. I don't even know. He was gone – he'd be gone for weeks. And then he'd show up again just long enough to make me miss him before he was gone." She smiled sadly. "When I was little, my mom used to tell me he drove a semi-truck. But she lied."

Face nodded slowly. The ambiguity in that answer didn't make him feel any better about this story so far. He glanced around at the rest of the team. It was impossible to read Hannibal's expression, and BA was scowling. Murdock was so busy folding origami out of notebook paper, it wasn't even clear whether or not he'd heard her. But in spite of appearances, Face knew he was paying attention to every word.

Ashley continued quietly. "They found out, somehow - or they just _suspected_ - that I knew where the list is. And ever since, I've... I've been on the run. They set fire to my house, came into my workplace shooting..." She hid her face in her hands. "They killed three people. And they have tried to kill me."

"That wouldn't be very smart if they want to find the list," Hannibal pointed out.

She shook her head. "I don't pretend to know what they're thinking. I don't even know who they _are_. But like I said, they've killed people because they've come into public places shooting. They could've easily killed me, too."

Face raised a brow. "And you said you went to the police with all this?"

"The police won't help me. I've tried. They say there's no connection between the events and I'm just very unfortunate."

Face frowned. Something about that didn't sit right. Something about the way she said it, even if he disregarded how absolutely stupid and ineffective the police would have to be in order to let such a thing go unnoticed, particularly if she'd been reporting it all along.

"How long ago did your father die?"

"Six years."

"And where did they find him?"

"In a shallow grave in west Texas. Near Houston." Face made note of it. A story this crazy had

to have a paper trail a mile long.

Hannibal tipped his head a bit, studying her carefully. "If your story checks out - and if we agree to work for you - what exactly do you expect us to do?"

"Yeah, because if you've been calling government offices and everybody's saying that there _is_ no list," Face added, "there's got to be some reason why they're not interested in retrieving it. And it's _been _six years. It's probably outdated by now. People in witness protection tend to move around. They wouldn't be at those addresses six years later."

"Outdated or not, it's still a threat to my life."

"And you think that threat will go away if you really don't know where it is?" Hannibal questioned, brows raised in amusement at the holes in her plan. "Or are you expecting us to somehow convince these people – whoever they are – that you don't know where this list is and they should leave you alone?"

Whether or not she caught the sarcasm, she didn't react to it. "I don't expect them to do that," she answered with a sigh. She looked back and forth between them. "Look. My father gave his life to make sure that these people did not get their hands on that list. And I want to make sure these people _don't_ get their hands on that list. Otherwise, he died for nothing." The hurt reflecting in her voice was deep, ingrained by years of pain. "I wish he'd never told me where he hid it. But he did. And if they catch up with me... if they do to me what they did to my father..." She shuddered and turned away, hugging herself. "I don't know that I could keep that secret. And people's lives are at risk."

"If they go so far to burn down your home," BA started, "an' shoot up your work, an' follow you all over the country, they ain't gonna take no for an answer. Even if you don't know where it is, they still gonna kill you."

"But they won't get the list if I don't know where it is. Or if it's destroyed."

"You're _really _willing to take that risk?" Face asked, a bit cynical about this whole plan of hers.

"Like I said," she stated. "My father gave his life. It was that important to him. And if that list has on it what he said it did, there's a lot more lives at risk. Even if it _is _outdated."

"So you're wanting us to go to some cave in Texas," Murdock said, not looking up, "and do somethin' with this list so that when these mean guys catch up with you, they can torture you to death but they ain't gonna get the list." Finally, he raised his eyes and met hers. "I _sure_ hope there's more to this plan than what I'm seein'."

She stared back at him, not flinching. "I have _nowhere_ else to go."

"How about getting out of the country?" Hannibal suggested.

"We can make _that _happen, easy," Face shrugged.

She shook her head. "That list would still be there. And I would always worry about it."

"At least you'd be _alive _to worry," Murdock pointed out.

"Please." She looked at them. "I want to know that that list is destroyed. That's what I'm paying you for. Just to escort me because in case they're there..." She shook her head, sadly. "I will never be able to get anywhere close to that list. Whatever happens after it's destroyed is myproblem, and mine alone. I probably willget out of the country. But first," she paused for a deep, shaky breath, "I just need to know that it's destroyed."

They exchanged glances. Then, finally, Hannibal spoke. "We'll let you know in the next day or two if we'll take this assignment. _If _your story checks out and _if _you can pay our fee, we'll go get the list."

"The money isn't an issue," she said, reaching into her oversized purse. It was almost big enough to qualify as a book bag. "I know you need a retainer." Hannibal watched her as she held out a neat stack of bills, wrapped by the bank. "Twenty thousand dollars should be enough, right?"

Hannibal smiled politely, but didn't take the money. "We'll find you and let you know if we'll need that retainer or not. _If _we decide to take your case."

"Well, you may have some difficulty finding me," she stated, putting the money back into her purse and pulling out a piece of paper with her address scribbled on it. "I've gotten pretty good at making myself scarce. But that's where I'll be staying tonight and tomorrow. After that, I'm going to have to get out of this city. I can't stay in one place for very long."

"We understand," Hannibal smiled, tucking the card into his breast pocket.

"And if you intend to look _hard _at my story, you'll need these." She pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it over as well.

"What is this?"

"A copy of my _real _birth certificate, adoption papers, and name changes."

"Adoption papers?" Face raised a brow.

She smiled. "When I was two. Before that I was in DHS custody."

Face kept from rolling his eyes. That would make her identity conveniently difficult to pin down for certain. "And this," she handed him a manila folder, "is the paperwork for the other identities I've used." His shock remained hidden by sheer willpower. The folder was a half-inch thick.

"And these." Hannibal received the last folder. She had certainly come prepared. "These are the newspaper clippings on my father's death, the fire that burned my house down, and the several times that they've come after me in public places. I can also give you a list of the residences I've been at since all of this started happening, if you need that."

"No, that won't be necessary," Hannibal assured her. He stood up, and the other three followed.

"We'll be in touch," Face smiled as he walked past, pausing just briefly to shake her hand.

***

"I dunno about this, Hannibal." BA sounded as wary of this situation as Face felt. "We don't even know who these guys are. What are we dealin' with here?"

"Hey, Face, pick a number."

Face glanced at Murdock who was holding some paper contraption with writing on it. "Four." Murdock opened and closed the dream-catcher, this way and that, four times.

"I'm more interested in who _she _is than who's chasing her," Hannibal mused. "That was some story."

Face eyed him carefully. "You don't buy it?"

Hannibal shrugged. "Let's just say I find it hard to trust anybody with that many names." He grinned as he lit his cigar. "Present company excluded."

That remark earned a brief, sarcastic smile from Face. "Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one. That story's so full of holes an elephant could walk through it." He glanced back and forth at the others. "I mean, if 'they' know she's got some information they want, why risk killing her? She can't give them information if she's dead."

"Maybe they were just trying to scare her." Face could tell by the look on Hannibal's face that he was playing Devil's advocate.

"Okay, fine," Face granted. "But one way or another, why the hell does she think it's going to be beneficial to retrieve that list? They don't know where it is now, or they wouldn't be chasing her. The best thing she can do is get out of the country before they _catch _her. Safer for the list _and _for her."

"Well, we _did _offer to get her out of the country." Hannibal shrugged.

"And she didn't want any part of it. Does that seem a bit... odd to anyone else besides me?"

"Pick a color, Face," Murdock interrupted again.

"Red."

"Red isn't one of the choices, Face, you gotta pick one that's one of the choices."

Face looked at the words in the center of the contraption. "Blue."

"B-L-U-E." Murdock shifted the paper back and forth a few more times.

"I don't like it," BA said again.

"And where was her father that a cave was the only safe place to hide this list?" Face continued, his thoughts still rambling over all the things that sounded so wrong about her story. "And why did he call his daughter instead of a colleague, his contact, or his boss?"

Face frowned at the look on the colonel's face. He knew that look. "Hannibal, seriously? Are you actually considering taking this case?"

"I'm considering it," he replied, thoughtfully.

"Why?" Face challenged, clearly appalled.

Hannibal shrugged. "Curiosity."

BA did not like that answer. "Curiosity killed the cat, Hannibal!"

"Curiosity about what, exactly?" Face asked cautiously.

Hannibal only smiled.

"Pick another color."

Face glared at Murdock, irritated by the interruptions. "Red."

"No, red ain't one of the colors, remember?"

"So make it up. I want red."

"Face, you can't just change the colors!" Murdock stammered. "It'd mess up the whole probability table and all the psychic vibes would be _stopped _because the channel was disrupted."

"Green."

"It says," Murdock started, unfolding the paper, "'You will go on a long car ride and crawl around in a cave with people shooting at you looking for a list that probably doesn't even exist.'"

All three of them blinked, and he glanced up, looking around. "What?" he asked, seemingly shocked. "I didn't say it - he did." He withdrew one hand from the bottom of the toy and pointed at it.

"Man, you're crazy, fool!"

"Did he say why he thinks that?" Hannibal asked, ignoring BA's insult.

"Let me see." Face smirked as Murdock put the paper fortune teller to his ear and used it like a hand puppet, talking to him. "He says the woman's never seen this list and who knowswhat's buried out there in that cave. If anything."

"What do you mean?"

Murdock dropped his hands in his lap. "Look guys, she's payin' us to pull _somethin' _outta a cave. If her story's for real – and it's not – then there'll be a list in that cave. If she's runnin' some kinda scam... could be anything from a stolen payroll to a dead body." He shrugged.

Face tilted his head. So Murdock hadbeen listening. "Okay, I'll bite. What makes _you_ think her story's not for real?"

Murdock smirked as he inspected his dream-catcher carefully. "'Cause what she was describing sounds like she was tryin' to implythat Daddy worked for the CIA. An' far as I know, witness protection ain't even run by the CIA. It's run by the US Marshals. Who _wouldn't _be runnin' off weeks at a time." He looked up. "An' in any case, no government agency is gonna be sendin' one lone guy to hand deliver a list from LA to Washington. An' if they did, and it didn't get there, that agency would wanna findit. Not tell her to go jump off a balcony when she's the one person left in the world who knows where it is."

"He's got a point," Face smiled, glad for the added ammunition to his argument.

"So we're all agreed that she's hiding something," Hannibal granted. "But she's gone through a hellof a lot of effort, for the past three years, to get a hold of us. She does want something."

"And you want to know what it is," Face concluded.

"I told you," Hannibal smiled, "I'm curious."

"Well, I'm not!" BA declared. "I don't like it."

"Murdock?" Hannibal asked.

There was a deep frown on Murdock's face as he stared down at his paper, refolding it and shifting it around again. Up and down, left and right. "I gotta be honest, Colonel," he said. "Somethin' about this smells funkier than a week old tuna fish sandwich." He glanced up. "But I like caves. An' I could use a road trip."

In other words, he was curious, too. Face sighed deeply as he leaned forward, head in his hands. "Look, as far as tracing her back, there's no way in hell." He gestured to the clippings and papers strewn out on his borrowed dining room table. "This paper trail's ten miles long and only half of that through legal channels." He held up one of the social security cards. "I know what it takes to get even _one_ of these made for you. She's got four. And I doubt she got them all from the same place."

"But aren't you just the _least _bit curious about why she's spent the past three years trying to get this thing? And why she needs _us _to do it?"

"She probably needs us because it's dangerous," Face pointed out. "And/or illegal." He glared. "Aren't you the one who always wants to know everything about a client before we agree to work for them? I've always _liked _that philosophy, you know - it keeps us from getting _killed_."

"She could be workin' for Decker!" BA shot.

"Nah, Decker's not that patient." Hannibal waved off the suggestion. "She's been trying for three years. Whatever it is she wants, she _really _wants it. And she _really _thinks we're the only ones who can get it."

Face stared at him, shaking his head. "Hannibal, it would take weeks to track down _all_ of these people." He held up random papers to emphasize his point. "Let alone find out if any of them are really even her."

"So we're either going to make a few thousand dollars and have our curiosity satisfied - or we're going to send her on her merry way." Hannibal smirked past his cigar. "Did you have other plans for the weekend?"

BA shook his head. He probably realized that, even with Face on his side, they were going to take this job. Hannibal was on the jazz. The look in his eye said it all. "I _don't_ like it," he tried one last time. "We don't even know who these guys are."

"Well, there's only one way to find out. Let's go tell Ashley Carver - or whatever her name is - that she just hired the A-Team."

"Wait, don't I get some say in this?" Face protested, springing to his feet. "You askedfor my opinion, remember?"

Hannibal turned and clapped a hand over his shoulder. "And your opinion has been taken into account," he smiled.

"But -"

"We leave in the morning," Hannibal declared. "Everybody get a good night's sleep."


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

"Eighty-six bottles of beer on the wall, eighty six bottles of beer..."

"Hey!" BA was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had turned white. "If you two don't shut up, I'm pullin' this van over and you're walkin'home!"

"Well, you'rethe one who didn't fix the radio before we started off on this little road trip," Murdock reminded him.

"So what?" BA demanded. "Silence is good! I like silence!"

"Give it a rest, Murdock," Hannibal said, offhandedly. He didn't bother including Face in his warning even though Face had startedthe singing.

A quick glance and shrug between the two men in the backseat, and Murdock quieted, humming the song instead of singing it loudly. Face glanced back at the woman who was sleeping through it all, curled up in the back of the van with the blankets they kept for just such an occasion. They'd been driving for about fifteen hours now, on US Route 66 instead of the interstates. Ashley had insisted they not drive on the freeway. He chalked it up to paranoia. At the same time, he realized they didn't know all the rules to the game they were playing. It was best just to play along until they knew what they were dealing with.

He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the seat. Fifteen hours of driving meant only short cat-naps throughout the day and night. He felt like hell. Probably looked like it, too, dressed in the same clothes he'd left LA in, eyes no doubt a bit bloodshot from the lack of sleep. Dawn had finally broken the horizon about thirty minutes ago, and it was already getting warm. Almost time to close the windows and turn the air conditioning on. The August heat was just as bad here as in LA. Luckily, it wasn't as humid.

He dozed off, but woke up as soon he heard Hannibal's voice. "What is that?"

That wasn't a good enough reason to open his eyes. "That" could be just about anything. But the long pause, and the way the van slowed, warned him that it wasn't just anything. He listened, but didn't move, still feigning sleep. "I don't like the looks of it," BA added.

The inclination to open his eyes was growing stronger. But after so many hours of dull travel, he could use a good surprise. "Oh my God..." If the panic in Ashley's voice was any indication, it wasn't a pleasant surprise. He sighed internally.

"Face?"

"Yeah, Colonel?" Finally, he opened his eyes.

"That's them," Ashley gasped. "My God, it's them!"

If Hannibal was concerned about "them", it didn't show in his voice. In fact, he sounded almost amused. "Face, reach back behind you and get those guns, will you?"

"Which ones?" he asked, sitting up a little and looking out the windshield briefly. Out in front of them was a roadblock, a line of black cars stretched out across the two-lane road and along the shoulder, with long gun barrels pointing over the hoods and trunks.

"Whichever." Hannibal was so casual, it was hard to believe he was seeing the same thing Ashley was. "It doesn't matter."

Face unbuckled his seatbelt and turned into the back of the van, suddenly face to face with Ashley. "You uh, might wanna get down," he suggested to Ashley, who was staring up at him in wide-eyed horror.

"Murdock, wake up!"

"Huh? Wha...?" He only had about two seconds to figure out where he was before Face was shoving a submachine gun into his hand.

Face passed another up to Hannibal and set the last one on the floor beside BA just as the first shots rang out. He blinked, surprised. Those shots had come without provocation, without any exchange of threats, without warning. Were they shooting to kill?

"Let's go around 'em, BA," Hannibal ordered. "Face? Murdock?"

They knew what to do. Face checked his ammunition before opening the side door, gripping the handle attached to the ceiling. He swung out at the same time Murdock shoved up through the sunroof to return fire.

There was a certain amount of adrenaline that came with hanging out the side of a van doing fifty miles an hour on the dirt shoulder, exchanging automatic gunfire with an unknown opponent. It made Face realize that he'd never truly lost the taste for danger he'd acquired in the war, even though he rarely had to think about dodging mortar rounds and indirect fire. The rush, the way his heart beat faster, the intense awareness of everything around him... it all brought a smile to his face.

The tires of the van ripped up the dirt on the shoulder, kicking up a cloud of dust as BA hit the gas, swerving off the road and down the slight incline. The shallow ditch was wide enough to drive in, but it was also full of mud from the recent rain. BA realized it too late. He floored the gas, but it only spun the wheels faster, throwing a waterfall of mud behind them.

There was no time for planned reaction, or even an exclamation of surprise. They were slowing fast and at this rate, they'd pass those guns at a crawl. The embankment wouldn't provide much cover when that happened. BA acted on instinct, turning the wheels toward the steep rise on the other side of the ditch – better than turning into the guns – but he knew the van couldn't take the slope. At least, not coming out of a foot and a half of mud while being shot at.

He got the front tires up and might have been able to use the grip to pull the van out of the mud if not for the dangerous angle... and the fact that there was a large tree stump directly in front of them. They were stuck. They were also wide open to incoming fire.

Face slammed the door shut hard as he fell over backwards, taking his finger off the trigger in time to keep from blowing gunshot holes through the roof of the van. And through Murdock, who fell back down into the van as Face collided with his legs.

The confusion demanded pure instinct. They were only a few yards from the roadblock, and the van would only provide cover for so long. "Out the driver's side door," Hannibal ordered. It was the only door that wouldn't require dancing through the hailstorm of bullets.

He rested his weapon in the open window and lay down a spray of gunfire as BA fell out the door and immediately positioned himself over the hood of the van to return fire. Face followed, and Murdock, then finally Ashley. Hannibal was the last to shift over to the driver's seat and stumble out onto the uneven ground of the steep incline.

"Alright, we need to move!" His voice had taken on an edge as the danger continued to escalate. He spoke fast, rattling orders so quickly it was hard to tell when one sentence ended and another began. "Head for the trees - Face! Take Ashley. We'll cover you. We get split up go east - next town!"

Face slung his weapon over his shoulder and grabbed Ashley's arm. "You come with me."

She had no time to protest, or even to think, before he pulled her off her feet. "Head down!" he ordered as he dragged her up the steep slope. He didn't look at his opponents. That job belonged to the rest of the team. Face would have his hands full with this girl.

They scrambled up the ridge and over the railroad tracks at top of it. The drop on the other side gave them cover, and they darted into the trees that lined the side of the road. At a safe distance, Face ducked around one of the wide trees and turned to look back, leveling his weapon at the ridge. The other three had just come over the top of the hill, and hit the dirt. They could defend from there, at least until they ran out of ammunition; they had the high ground.

A part of him wanted to go back, to join them. But Ashley was safer back here, and that had to be his primary concern. Besides, it would be over soon. Those guys in the cars could only take so much direct fire from the top of a hill...

Bullets. Closer than he'd been expecting. Ashley screamed. Instinct made him duck and cover before he even had a chance to see where they were coming from. He looked up, startled, head swiveling around to find the source. The team was still up on the ridge, focused on the road; no point shouting with the amount of racket from the machine guns. The enemy had split up. In addition to those on the road, there were two groups coming from either side, through the trees. Coming straight at them.

They had to move.

He shouldered his weapon and, grabbing Ashley's arm with his other hand, went further into the trees, away from the road. He was cut off from the team already, and if he could help them at all it would only be to lead away the men in the trees. A three front battle - and stranded on top of a hill, no less – would mean certain defeat.

He knew the men would follow. But he hadn't counted on the fact that on the other side of the tree line, there was a wide open field. He skidded to a stop, eyes darting back at the men who were still following.

Ashley screamed as she saw them too, and Face turned, firing into the trees and the advancing figures. They dropped to avoid the bullets, and returned fire. He didn't wait for them to regain their footing. "Come on, move!" he directed, breaking into a run and pulling Ashley behind him.

They didn't get far; she couldn't run as fast as he could. Especially in the awkward position with his grip on her arm. She stumbled, and he pulled her back to her feet. They weren't going to outrun the guns that were following them. _Hide... _But even for that, they still needed to get some distance.

In and out of the thin line of trees, through the brush, keeping low. His breathing was coming heavy when they finally reached a railroad trestle over a muddy, half-dried creek. He didn't take the time to look it over, to wonder if it was safe. He dove underneath it at the furthest point, pulling Ashley behind him into the mud, and leveling his weapon at the trees. He was laying flat on his back against the muddy embankment, heels dug in deep to try and keep himself from slipping. From this angle, if their pursuers would be open targets if, and when, they appeared.

Ashley was gasping for air, clutching her chest as she leaned back against him. The sound of her breathing and the pounding of his own heart in his ears were so loud that he didn't even hear the footsteps above him. He didn't realize until he saw the shadow fall between the spaces in the tracks above their head that their hunters were standing right on _top _of them. How had they gotten around them? Was this a different group? How many of these guys _were _there?

He had no shot. He knew that instinctively. But he held the gun up toward them anyways. With his free hand, he grabbed Ashley and pulled her against him hard, his hand over her mouth. She whimpered, eyes wide, her hands up around his forearm instinctively, and he pressed his mouth against her ear. "Shh!" She pulled hard on his arm, trying to get him to let go. But he didn't budge. And after a moment, he felt her go limp. A quick glance told him she'd passed out – probably from lack of oxygen - and he uttered a few choice words in his mind.

He loosened his grip a little, letting her breathe and shoved her weight off of him, depositing her less-than-gracefully into the mud beside him. Then he turned his full attention back up to the shadow as it moved over the tracks above them. He shifted his grip just slightly on his weapon, finger resting on the trigger, just at the point of resistance. He didn't have the shot. But God help them if they stepped into his line of fire. The fact that they had opened fire without a warning or demand made it clear that they were very probably shooting to kill. They'd have him at point blank range. He might not aim to kill _them_, but he wouldn't hesitate to shoot. And he'd have them at point blank, too.

Finally, without a word, the shadow went back the way it had come. Slowly, Face allowed his grip to relax, and lowered the barrel of the gun to the ground. Then he shut his eyes, and let himself breathe again. Deep, slow breaths. Calm. Collected. Gathered thoughts and a specific plan.

Go east.

He turned his attention to the woman lying beside him in the mud, and shook her roughly, tapping the side of her face a few times. "Ashley! Wake up!"

A few groggy, half-conscious moans, and her eyes suddenly snapped open. "Omigod!"

"Shh," Face ordered, turning to scan the tree line again. He still wasn't convinced that they were in the clear.

"Omigod we're... they... I..."

"Quiet!" he shot again. Maybe he should've left her unconscious a while longer.

She curled up into a ball in the mud, shuddering. He kept one eye on her and one eye on the trees. In a way, she surprised him. Not that he'd been expecting her to grab a gun and join in, but if she'd lived through the experience of getting shot at several times before – and gotten herself out without help – she had to have done it without panicking. The incapacitating terror, the loss of control... it didn't sit right with him.

He waited several minutes, then slowly shifted position, sliding the rest of the way down the muddy bank into a foot of sludge-filled water. "Wait here," he ordered as he crossed the creek and started up the other side. He slipped a few times, and finally completed the process of covering himself in mud as he lay down on his stomach and looked over top of the embankment. Nothing moved for several minutes. They'd either moved on or given up.

He thought about heading back towards the van. He wasn't sure how far it was but he knew that the tracks would take him there. But the orders had been to go east and as he thought about it, they made sense. That van was definitely stuck in the mud. There would be no getting it out without help. If he knew that, the enemy knew it too. It wouldn't do any good to take the client back to the van and make her a target, if and when they returned to finish the job.

Better to get to the next town, as ordered, and wait for them to show up. He wouldn't wait long – they'd make better time than he would while he was dragging Ashley along and they really should get there first. But even if they'd lost the firefight, he needed transportation, and some kind of advantage, if he was going to even think about mounting a rescue. And he needed to get rid of the girl.

He turned and slid back down, heading over to where she was still huddled, watching him. "Come on," he ordered as he slung the weapon over his shoulder again. "We need to get to the next town."

***

Three sets of eyes surveyed the damage done to the muddy, shot up van. "We're going to need a tow truck," Murdock declared, pointing out the obvious.

The back wheels were sunk almost completely down into the mud, the vehicle tilted at a bizarre angle as if it might tip over with a good gust of wind. "There was a junkyard a few miles back," BA recalled. "I saw a tow truck there."

Murdock broke away from BA and Hannibal and took a running leap to cross the mud at its narrowest spot, heading back up toward the road. The cars were all gone. They'd fled suddenly after a few minutes of shooting. Either they'd run out of ammo or – more likely – they just got tired of having their pretty Buicks blown to hell by someone with an obvious positioning advantage. The shooting hadn't accomplished much on either side, except that it had lasted just long enough to make it impossible to tell in which direction Face and Ashley had headed.

Murdock glanced both ways down the road, then stepped out onto it. The sun was already high enough and hot enough to make a shimmering heat wave rise up from the road all the way to his knees. Bits and pieces of tail lights and window glass littered the pavement, along with a puddle and a receding trail heading east.

"Man! Why they have to shoot up my van!"

Murdock turned and glanced over his shoulder at BA who was circling the vehicle, avoiding the mud as best he could. "You've fixed it before, BA," Hannibal reminded, lighting his cigar. "You'll do it again."

Hannibal opened up the side door and exchanged his rifle for a much smaller handgun. Then, glancing up, he locked eyes with Murdock. "What do you think, Captain?"

Murdock frowned deeply as he headed back. "They took some damage," Murdock relayed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "There's coolant on the road." He paused a few feet from where Hannibal was standing, looking down the long, empty highway.

"We haven't seen a single car pass since they drove off," Hannibal pointed out. "I think we'd better start walking."

"Which way?" Murdock asked, glancing in either direction.

"Back the way we came." Hannibal pointed. "BA says he saw a tow truck."

"Face will be heading east," Murdock reminded him.

"Well, we don't know exactly how far it is to the next town." Hannibal stared down the long, winding road. "Could be more or less of a walk than back to the junkyard. We know there's a tow truck there."

"What if he gets there and we ain't there yet?"

"He'll find a place to hole up and wait for us."

"You think they're okay?" The concern in his voice was evident.

"They're fine," Hannibal assured him.

Murdock sighed. Yeah, the colonel said that... but the fact that he wasn't gambling with this situation – taking his chances on the distance to the next town rather than what he knew was a five mile hike - told Murdock that he was worried, too.

"Well, maybe we should go try and find them." He glanced up quickly. "I mean..."

"Face can handle himself. He'll get to the next town. If he's not there by the time we get there – or within a reasonable amount of time – we'll go find him. The best thing we can do is be ready and waiting when he gets there. With transportation."

Murdock leaned against the front corner of the van, the part that wasn't sunk in the mud. "We should've had 'em come back to the van."

"No, we shouldn't have," Hannibal corrected, confidently. "Because we need to get the van towed out of here."

"But Hannibal, what if they -"

"Will you _stop _worrying, Murdock? It's Face. He'll be fine."

"I know, I know..." Murdock took the pistol that Hannibal was holding out to him and tucked it into the back of his pants, under his bomber jacket. "I just don't like that he's outnumbered twenty to one out there."

***

"Face, I don't think I can walk anymore." She'd been dragging a few steps behind for the past three miles. "How much farther?"

"You're asking me?" he replied. The lighthearted humor that might have otherwise accompanied a situation like this was not present. He was covered in mud - his clothes, his hair, his face - from the bank of the creek under the railroad tracks. He'd trudged through mucky water with leeches and God-knows-what-else to lose those guys a second time. They'd been walking for hours – they'd started in the morning and the sun was already going down - and they'd seen nothing but fields and cows and the occasional run-down house with nobody home. He was hot and sweaty and tired and he had no idea how far it was to the next town. It was a hundred and ten degrees out here. The lack of humidity didn't count for much when he was drenched in his own sweat. And to top it all off, they had no water except what they'd been able to get in a few, barely running streams of unsafe water off the side of the road. But even unsafe water was better than heat stroke, and that was a very real possibility in this heat.

"You're the one who had the great idea to follow Route 66 and stay away from the freeway," he reminded her, irritated. "I was assuming you knewthis area."

She stopped, crossing her arms over her chest. She was as filthy as he was, and the bitch-goddess pose was not impressive. "Well I don't," she shot.

He turned and made a sweeping gesture down the road as he bowed sarcastically. "Then I suggest we keep _moving_, princess, before we run out of daylight."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "And I suggest we get off these railroad tracks. They'll be able to see us from the road."

"There's been no sign of them for five miles," he reminded her. "And if you don't mind, this will move a lot faster if we're on even ground." Every mile was taking hours as it was. He didn't want to think about how long it would take if they had to pick their way through the brush in a less direct route.

"Not if we're _dead_, we won't."

He straightened, and shifted the heavy gun that was hanging over his shoulder before crossing his arms over his chest. "Look, do you have a problem?" he demanded. He was miserable. Irritable, even. The heat that had been beating down on them all day hadn't helped much to lighten his mood.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do," she shot back. "Because I'm not payingyou to be stupidand take insane risks."

"Insane risks?"

"Walking along these tracks isan insane risk," she snapped. "That's what I just told you."

He let the gun fall off his shoulder and held it by the strap, gesturing broadly with his other hand. "Your whole _case _is an insane risk! If we didn't take insane risks, I would sipping champagne in a penthouse suite right now instead of trudging down some god-forsaken track in the middle of nowhere!"

"You were the one who was _sleeping _as we were coming up to that roadblock!" she reminded him.

"Which we wouldn't have even hit if we'd been on the interstate."

"No, if we'd been on the interstate, we would be dead."

"Well, I guess we'll never know that, will we?" He realized how childish they both sounded, but he was too damn hot and irritable to even care.

"You know what?" She crossed her arms over her chest and glared daggers at him. "I find it interesting that I'm paying you all this money just to _be _what you claim to be. And the whole time we were talking about this, you're sitting there all relaxed and casual like it's no big deal to you. And now that you're out here, now that you're actually having to get your handsa little dirty for the crazy amount of money I'm paying you, you're whining and bitchingat me like a fucking pussy!"

His reaction was instantaneous. He didn't hit her – if only for the fact that he remembered she was a woman – but he grabbed her shoulder just the same, jerking her almost off her feet. "Watch it, Ashley," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Or I will leave your ass right here and call the whole goddamn thing off. Don't think, even for a minute, that there's any amount of money in the worldthat could buy me into this unless I _wanted _to be here."

"Somehow I doubt that," she glared back.

He pulled her in closer until they were eye to eye, inches apart. "Then you just don't know me very well," he answered darkly. "So I suggest you keep your personal comments about my character to yourself."

If there had been any question in her mind that she _had _hired a man who'd long been regarded as very dangerous, it was gone in that instant. He watched for the flicker of fear to cross her eyes, and let her go the instant it did. He hadn't heard words like that - _personal _attacks like that – since basic training. And he wasn't about to take it from her.

She walked a few steps behind him as he started again, keeping a close eye on his surroundings. They couldn't have been more alone out here than if they'd been walking through the middle of the desert. For that matter, it couldn't have been much hotter.

"You realize we're not going to make it to the next town before it gets – _Ow_!"

He turned back in time to see her collapse, her foot twisted underneath her. He rolled his eyes. "How the hell did you manage to do that?" Was it _that _hard to walk on the ties?

He watched as she straightened her leg out, and dragged herself back up. But as she started walking again, she was limping. "You alright?" For some strange reason, he wasn't particularly concerned about her well-being at the moment.

She looked up at him and glared. "I'm _fine_!"

He kept walking.

It was clear, only about a quarter of a mile later, that she wasn't fine. Stubborn pride had set her jaw in place, but it was taking even longer than before with her limping. And a quick glance back at her face told him she really was in pain. He kept his irritation carefully guarded as he waited for her to catch up. "How's your ankle?"

He half expected her to keep up the determined, "I'm tougher than you are" attitude. But the pain of whatever she'd done to her foot had finally pushed her over the edge. It wasn't broken, or she wouldn't be able to walk on it at all. And if it was a sprain, it would be noticeably swollen. It was probably just twisted. But it was the straw that broke the camel's back, on top of the heat and the exhaustion.

"It hurts," she admitted, sitting down in the middle of the tracks and cradling the injury.

He sighed deeply, and crossed the few steps to her, kneeling down. "How'd you manage to do that anyways?" he asked, a little more compassionate now.

There were tears seeping from the corners of her eyes. "I just slipped," she answered, untying her shoe. "There were rocks on the track and they slipped out from under me."

"Don't take your shoe off," he ordered, taking her hands away from the laces. "If it's going to swell up, the shoe will keep it from getting too bad."

He knew it wasn't broken, but felt it just in case. Then he looked around as he brushed his hand through his dirty hair. They needed to find a place to stop for a while. At least a few hours if not for the night. It was already getting dark.

The railroad tracks ran next to the road and there was nothing beyond them but cows and fields. On the other side of the road there were trees. But up ahead in the distance, he saw a mailbox on the other side. A mailbox meant a house. Probably deserted, but it would be as good a place as any to stay. If they were lucky, maybe someone actually lived there, and was home.

"Come on," he sighed, standing up again and offering a hand down to her. "There's a house up there. Let's see if anyone's home."


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Nobody had been home in the old, disheveled house. But somebody still lived there. Face had gone in just long enough to find some food, water, ibuprofen, and an ace bandage to wrap her ankle. Then they'd settled in the RV parked out behind the house. He'd had to break into that, too, but at least the chances were far slimmer that someone would walk in unexpectedly and find them there than if they'd stayed in the house. There was no indication of where the homeowners had gone, or how long they'd be away.

"Face?"

He didn't open his eyes, sprawled on the table-turned-bed of the camper trailer and facing the window. His weapon was tucked up against his chest, warm metal between his body and the pane of glass. "Hmm?"

She took a long moment to answer from the next room. The trailer was divided into two rooms. She was in the bedroom, getting mud all over the bed in the same fine fashion that he was decorating the table-bed.

"Are you ever really just... afraid?"

He opened his eyes, looking out the window at the wide open field outside. There was a barn a few yards away, and a canopy with a fully restored 62 Cadillac next to a Harley Davidson motorcycle. He wondered how difficult it would be to hotwire a ride to the next town. Too bad he hadn't seen them sooner, before they'd settled in. He turned slowly onto his back, pulling the weapon onto his chest and feeling its weight. "Afraid of what?"

"Of this... life?" He stared up at the ceiling, waiting for her to continue. "You were saying... comparing our lives..." He heard her take a deep breath, and turned his head to look out the window again, up at the sky. "I think I can safely say that I'm terrified. Every hour of every day, I'm terrified."

"Then why don't you leave?" he asked, genuinely curious. "When we offered to fly you out of the country, you didn't want to even consider it."

"I _have_ considered it," she admitted. "But I don't know, I guess I'm just... I'm scared of that, too."

He shut his eyes and breathed slow, shifting his grip on the weapon as he put one arm up under his head. But he didn't answer her. He just let her continue. "I can't ever just stop and think about it," she said quietly. "Because I know that if I stop, I'll never start again. And I _have _to keep moving. But I realize it when... like..." She gave a slight, self-deprecating laugh. "Like how I really wish there was a nightlight in here right now. Or that I had a gun. Even though I've never fired a gun in my _life_. I wouldn't even know how."

Another long pause. It seemed a bit odd that in her situation, she'd never bought a gun or learned how to use it. In any case, he didn't know how to answer her, and he didn't bother to try. The fact was, if he was going to let himself be afraid, he had far better things to be afraid of than the current situation. Hardly a day went by that he wondered if he'd be alive for the next. It wasn't scary; it was just the way life was. A bloody war and ten years of uncertainty and Post Traumatic Stress had taught him that fear was one of those things that could control a person's life if they let it. He didn't let it. He didn't even give it the time of day, and hadn't in many years.

The whole trailer shook as she turned over. It was a little unsteady on the soft ground. "You think they're okay?"

"Who?"

"The guys? The rest of the team?"

The thought had crossed his mind hours ago. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Well... I mean... they... we left them behind..."

He frowned at the choice of wording. "We didn't leave them behind," he corrected. "We split up. And tomorrow, we'll meet up with them again."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I know my team," he answered confidently. "And they know what they're doing."

"What if someone got hurt? You wouldn't even know about it."

His eyes opened again, lazily searching the sky. "Like I said, I know my team."

She laughed at that. But it was without humor. "God, I wish I could feel so invincible."

He didn't answer that. His thoughts were jumbled from the exhaustion. The fifteen hour drive, then the adrenaline and its subsequent crash, then the ten mile hike in the heat with no water... But he realized, even through his wandering thoughts, that he could hear her breathing stagger. She was crying. He frowned at that, and tipped his head to try and see into the room where she was. But she was around the corner. He couldn't see her. Damn it, this was the part where he was supposed to muster all the sympathy he could and tell her she was going to make it. Because if she cracked on him, they'd never get through this in one piece. "You alright?"

"No," she wept. "No, I'm not alright, I'm scared. I'm _terrified_ that they're gonna come burstingthrough that door with guns blazing and shoot you and take me off somewhere to torture me until I tell them where to find that goddamn list!"

He watched the doorway carefully, and finally relaxed his craned neck again, looking back up at the ceiling. After a lingering moment of hesitation, he sat up, cradling his rifle in his lap. As he stood, he held it by the strap and it rattled as it bounced off the counter. He stopped in the doorway, his free hand up above his head, holding the top of the frame as he leaned on the side of it. In the dim light from the window, he could see her, curled up into a ball, her face buried in the pillow.

It was hard to feel sympathy for this woman. It was hard for several reasons. First, she was lying to them. Second, she'd nearly gotten them all killed. Third, she had a mouth on her that would've gotten her a busted nose on those railroad tracks if she'd been a man. She was also the reason why they were holed up for the night here, rather than continuing on. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the opportunity to rest. But he would've much rather done it in the next town, with his team, when he knew they were all safe and they had a plan for where and how to move next. He didn't want to be here in this RV. Not now. Not with her.

He couldn't do anything about that, at least until morning. Right now, watching her cry from the doorway, he knew that there was a very different opportunity presenting itself. He had no interest in her on a personal level. But he could _smell _the vulnerability. If he wanted answers, now was the time to get them.

"What are you running from, Ashley?" he asked quietly. "What is this really about?"

She sniffled. "Those men opened fire on us, Face. They could've killed us." She looked up, and met his eyes, curling in on herself a little more to compensate for the fact that she'd taken her face out of the pillow. "Doesn't that mean anything to you? Doesn't that _scare _you?"

"Why does it scare you so much?" he asked. "It's not the first time they've opened fire on you."

"Yeah, but not that close," she sniffled. "And not that many of them." She broke off into a few muffled sobs, turning her head back to the pillow. "I just want this all to go away," she cried. "I will do _anything _right now just to make this all go away. I never asked for this. I never wanted this!"

He studied her for a long moment, letting her cry, letting her get it out of her system but watching for any signs that she was truly approaching hysterics. She never crossed the line. Finally, she quieted, and pulled the pillow down against her chest, hugging it.

"You don't have to be afraid, Ashley," he assured quietly. She looked up at him, teary eyes glistening in the dim light, and he smiled. It was meant to reassure her but at the same time, it was also a self-satisfied smirk. "You didhire the best."

She forced a smile in return and he took a step forward, swinging his weapon up into his lap as he perched on the edge of the bed. "Is that why you're so damned expensive?" she asked quietly.

He grinned. "We're worth every penny."

She laughed at his arrogance, and closed her eyes as she reached a hand out toward him. He wasn't quite close enough for her to reach. After a quick moment of deliberation, he moved in and let her hand rest on his arm. "I feel better with you here," she admitted. "Is that stupid?"

Face prided himself on his ability to read people – to tell when they were sincere and when they had an ulterior motive. At the moment, she fit into both categories. But since he wasn't sure what the motive is, and the fear really _was_ real, he had a feeling that the two were somehow tied together. He proceeded with caution. "It's not stupid," he assured her. "Why would it be?"

"Well, 'cause I know... I mean..." She looked up at him again. "Even right in the next room..."

So that was her motive: she wanted him to stay. He had to laugh to himself. If only he wasn't so tired. And dirty. And irritable. And miserable. He knew that "I'm vulnerable, make me feel better" look she was giving him. He knew exactly how to play that hand. But unfortunately, he _was _tired. And dirty. And miserable. And he had absolutely no interest in her right now. Besides, he didn't need to give her the wrong impression; he still didn't trust her, even if she was frightened.

He reached toward her, brushing her hair back from her face. "You want me to stay here with you?" he offered, careful about the look he was giving her. Better that he didn't imply any interest with _that_, either.

She nodded. Then half-laughed. "I know it's pathetic."

"Nah, it's not pathetic," he assured her, standing up and circling the bed to the other side. He lay down on his side on top of the blankets - like her, he found it far too hot underneath them - and kept the strap of his weapon over his shoulder, letting the rifle rest against his back. He stayed some distance from her, tucking one arm up under his head and watching her. "Go to sleep," he whispered. "We've gotta get to that town tomorrow. However far away it is."

He watched her settle again and before long, her breathing deepened. Then he let his eyes slide closed and drifted off into a light, half-sleep.

***

Cars. Face's eyes snapped open, immediately awake. Morning. Sunlight. He'd slept longer than he'd intended to. He was cramped. He'd not moved at all in the last seven hours. He hadn't ever hit deep sleep, either. Alternating between being awake and half-asleep, aware of every sound and breath and movement both inside and outside of the camper, he'd been on guard all night. So he knew that when he heard those tires on the gravel driveway, it was the very first warning he could've had. He hadn't missed anything. The homeowner had returned a little after midnight, but other than that nothing had changed since they'd arrived.

Completely still, Face breathed slow and listened. Car doors. Six. At least two vehicles. No voices. None except for that little voice inside that warned him of danger. It was screaming.

"Ashley, wake up," he hissed.

She moaned softly as he shook her, and he placed his finger to her lips. "Shh," he warned. "Come on, we gotta go."

He didn't have to see the cars to know that they were dangerous. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was wondering how they'd managed to track them here. But the bigger, more pressing issue was what Face was going to do about it now.

"What is it?" she moaned.

He was already on his feet, peeking through the blinds out into the open yard and the driveway. There were three black cars and, heading toward the door of the house, six men in black suits. His eyes narrowed as he got a good look at them for the first time. Black suits? It was not what he would have expected. But the black cars, riddled with bullet holes, were exactly what he'd expected. What the hell were black suits in black Buicks doing chasing down this girl whose dead father had worked for the government?

He had too many questions and not enough time. He'd deal with them later. Right now, he had to move. "Come on, get up," he ordered, checking his ammunition. Low. He'd already known that.

She slid off of the uncomfortable bed and approached slowly, a look of fear on her face. "What is it?"

He glanced back, out the window at the head of the bed and into the backyard. Barn. Car. Motorcycle. His brain worked at triple its normal speed, and he was moving before he'd even fully planned out what it was he was going to do. "Come on."

He opened the door slowly, silently, and stepped out, gun leveled in the direction of the figures that had crowded onto the porch and were now talking to a man in jean overalls who'd answered the doorbell. Ashley moved fast behind Face, and they were only within the men's line of sight for a second or two. It was long enough for them to slip by between the glances that the men cast over the yard.

Around the side of the trailer, Face pointed the gun toward the ground and grabbed her wrist with his free hand. His inclination was to run full speed ahead. But he didn't. He would've tripped her if he had, and he remembered that her ankle was hurt. Instead, he pulled her along, against the barn and then underneath the canopy where she immediately went for the car. "Maybe the keys are inside," she hissed, trying the doors.

He didn't bother with the car. Slinging his weapon back over his shoulder, he reached into the breast pocket of his muddy, wrinkled shirt and grabbed the small, rolled, black kit with his tools. By the time she'd checked all four doors and found them all locked, he was halfway done. One pick up, one down, turn just right. The ignition clicked and turned, and he pulled back the two picks, shoving them back into his pocket. "Get on," he ordered, swinging his leg over the bike.

She stared, blinking stupidly. After a moment, he reached for her hand and yanked her toward the bike. Then she understood. She climbed on behind him as he pushed himself up, foot positioned over the kick start. "Hold on tight and lean the way I lean. Understand?"

"Do you know how to drive this thing?" she asked, her voice unsteady.

He didn't answer. He threw his weight down on the kick start, and the engine roared to life. Clutch, shift, first gear, gas. He peeled out from under the canopy so fast Ashley nearly fell off the back of the bike. She let out a squeak, arms circling his waist and holding on for dear life. The wheels of the bike tore up the ratty grass on the lawn as they shot out of the yard, past the trailer, and in between the cars. He didn't have to look up to know that the men on the porch were startled as hell. Raising his hand off of the brake and up above his head, he waved at them – first with a friendly gesture and then with one finger – as he swung out into the road.

In the side mirror, he saw the men scramble for their cars, waving and yelling at each other in words he couldn't hear over the roar of the engine. But he'd hit a hundred yards and 80 miles an hour before they even reached their car doors.

He had a good head start. But he also had an open road ahead of him. And as he shifted into his highest gear and hit the gas hard, he realized that there was no way in hell he was going to outrun the Buicks. He could do 90 without a problem. One hundred was pushing it, on an unfamiliar road. And if anyone pulled out in front of him at that speed...

He had to get off of this road. The long stretch gave them too much of an advantage.

He slowed and turned left, leaning hard to the right to keep the bike from tipping over. He'd found another state highways and was heading north now. He had to keep his sense of direction or he was going to end up lost. Then it would be nearly impossible to find "the next town east". As he rounded the corner, he dared a quick look back just as the black cars pulled out onto the road, kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.

He kicked a gear down, picking up speed again. But he let off the gas suddenly as two more black cars suddenly pulled out ahead of him. Shit. He had five seconds to make a decision. Turn onto the road that was up to his right, or into the field to his left, or play chicken with the Buicks. It was obvious which would be hardest for them to follow. If he turned, they'd follow. But he needed an opening in the fence if he was going to go through that field. And there wasn't one.

He lowered his head, hunching down over the handlebars as he headed headlong into the cars. "Face, what are you doing!" Ashley was screaming. Her grip around him was shaking. But his hands were steady, eyes dead set on his opponents even as the passenger side window opened, and a machine gun was leveled at him.

The machine gun fire melded in with the sound of the engine and the steady beating of his heart in his ears. He could feel Ashley's panting breaths on the back of his neck, her heart beating so hard he could feel it on his back. The cool, damp morning against his face at this speed made him feel like he was staring down a hurricane. But it wasn't a hurricane. It was a pair of assault rifles. If he went past those cars, they _would _be shot.

New plan.

He downshifted and the bike lurched back as the transmission strained, slowing them suddenly. He knew better than to use the brake. He'd never regain control of the bike if he locked up the wheels at this speed. Ashley slid forward, pressing hard on him, her thighs clenching against the outside of his as he held himself back from the handlebars, arms locked.

He wretched the bike to the left, off the road and away from the bullets they had been heading straight into. The bike lurched and wobbled, not meant for off-road driving and certainly not at this speed. He'd slowed down, but he was still going fast enough to risk losing control. He didn't think about that. He thought about nothing but the front wheel of the bike - where it was positioned and where it was going.

Down through the ditch and up the other side, he found a dirt road that turned off of the pavement and skidded. The cloud of dust that rose up around them was a welcome cover, but he knew it wouldn't last. Once the bike was steadily upright again, he hit the gas. Off the road and onto the railroad tracks that ran parallel to the cars. The impact of the suddenly uneven surface under the bike's tires jarred all the way up his spine, tensing every muscle in his body.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two cars screech and turn, veering off to the side as the three that had finally caught up plowed through the opening between them. More guns. More bullets raining down on them. But distance protected them now, and their erratic speed. He couldn't go the same ninety miles an hour on this surface and keep control of the vehicle. He was only here in the hopes that the tracks would veer off in a direction the cars couldn't travel.

The five cars split up. Three followed along the same road, parallel to the tracks. The other two crossed the tracks and headed west.

"Omigod, _Face_!"

He saw the train. The train saw him, too, and he heard the screech of metal on metal as it slowed. His eyes flickered to the speedometer. Forty-five. There was a crossing ahead. He might make it. He might not. Any faster and he risked losing control. No way off the tracks without wiping out on the raised rails to either side of the tires. No way to jump; they were still being shot at. No good to stop the bike and lift the tires to the other side of the rail either; they'd be sitting ducks.

He downshifted and hit the gas as hard as he could, leg locked against it.

The bike shook so hard, he almost lost his grip. Rocks kicked up behind the tires, and he felt several pound his shins. If that caused any pain, it was only a dull awareness. Behind him, Ashley buried her face in his back and screamed. One hundred yards. Fifty yards. He could see the look of panic in the conductor's eyes as metal screeched on metal, a desperate attempt to slow the train. The shooting had stopped. Either that or he just didn't notice it anymore. The train in front of him was certainly a bigger issue. Fifty feet. Ten.

He hit the edge of the pavement at the railroad crossing and veered off with inches to spare. Downshift. _Fast_. Not fast enough. He lost control of the bike and it careened out of control. Brake. He pulled it hard, legs locked tight on the body of the motorcycle to keep from flying over the handlebars. Ashley was still screaming as they shot off into the brush. Downshift. Slow down. He swerved just in time to keep them from hitting the tree in front of them. And the fallen tree beside it. Control. He'd made it.

Much more slowly now, he weaved his way through the brush with steady hands, feeling the pull of thorns on his legs as they tore his pants. He couldn't care less at this particular moment. Out on the other side of the trees was another open field. Shift up. Little faster. The woman behind him was crying incoherently. His thoughts a blur, he surveyed the world around him. Three cars would be barred by the train over the road. The other two that had veered off earlier were nowhere in sight.

"You okay?" he called back over his shoulder.

"Omigod! Omigod Face! Oh... I... Omigod!" She was fine.

Across the field, dodging the frightened cows out to pasture, he found an opening in the fence and pulled back out onto the road. The tires squealed as he kicked the transmission back up to full speed. He had no idea which direction he was heading. But as the two black cars came into view in the distance ahead of him, Face very quickly determined that he wasn't heading in theirdirection.

How? Howwere they doing this? Howcould they be this organized? Who the hell werethey? He slowed and turned, back the way he'd come. As he picked up speed again, it suddenly occurred to him to check the gas gauge. He laughed. Empty.

Just perfect.

In the distance, he could see an overpass. They were gaining on him. But he could make it to that crossing. Maybe, if he was lucky, it would be the interstate.

He was lucky.

He could hear the gunshots behind him by the time he kicked the gear back down and turned onto the dirt road. Once again, he skidded, and the bike nearly flew out from under him. He held it tight. Ashley's grip on him guaranteed that as long as he stayed upright, she would too. Clutch, shift, gas. The dust nearly blinded him. But he'd already picked his entry point. He flew off the road and up the grassy embankment up to the guard rail, then along the rail to the end of it and finally right into oncoming traffic. The squealing of tires and the smell of burning rubber accompanied the screams and horns and crunching metal behind him. But he didn't look back.

He swerved to avoid a blue sedan and sped across the shallow grass median to the right side of the road. On this side, the horns blared, but there was no crunching metal. And as he melted in with the flow of traffic, there was no hint of his last few minutes' escapade except for the torn clothing and worn tires... and his own white-knuckled grip on the handlebars.

***

Hannibal blinked as he answered the door and came face to face with a figure that resembled the Loch Ness monster. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked.

Face rolled his eyes as he pushed his way into the room. His hair was windblown in all directions and his ripped clothing was caked with mud and soaked with sweat. "It's a long, dull story," he muttered under his breath.

"Dull?" Ashley challenged, stepping in behind him. "If that's dull, I don't want to be anywhere near you on an exciting day."

Hannibal glanced both ways out the door, then closed it again. "We were just starting to worry about you," he informed him. "We expected you'd check in by morning."

"Ashley hurt her foot," Face gestured. "We had to stop for the night.

Ashley was already diving for the half-open pizza box on the bed. "Omigod, I'm starving," she muttered through a mouthful of pizza. "He wouldn't stop." She looked to Hannibal, as if she expected him to correct Face's behavior. "Even to get a bag of chips, he wouldn't stop driving that damn thing _up _and _down _those roads, trying to -"

"Driving what thing?" Hannibal asked, the question very pointedly aimed at Face.

Face was shrugging out of the very tattered, sweat-drenched, mud-soaked jacket. "The motorcycle out there," he mumbled. "Like I said. Long story."

"Faceman!"

He looked up as Murdock rounded the corner, out of the bathroom, arms outstretched. But as he came closer, the invitation for an embrace turned to an effort to keep him at arm's length. His hands clapped down on his friend's shoulders as he looked him over, up and down. "Face? You look like _hell_."

What was he supposed to say to that? Of course he looked like hell. "Heh... thanks."

"We were just heading out to look for you," Hannibal repeated. "But now that you're here, we should probably get going. The van is out back."

"I know," Face answered, glancing over his shoulder. "It's how I knew you were here." He raised a brow. "Is it _running_? It got shot up pretty good back there."

"It's running," Hannibal answered. "We drove it into town once we got it out of the mud."

Face ran his fingers through his hair and came back with a handful of dust. He laughed tensely. "Can I _shower _before we leave?"

Hannibal was already opening the door. "If you make it quick. We're leaving in ten."

The door closed behind him and Face turned to Murdock. "Did you guys get here last night?"

Murdock's expression told him there was a horror story to be told about their arrival here. He hoped he wouldn't share it right this moment. "Oh, Face, you got noidea..."

"Right," he sighed, eyeing the bathroom. "Tell me later."

"Go on, I'll get you some clothes," Murdock offered, gesturing over his shoulder at the bathroom. He paused as he passed Ashley. "We got the next room too if you wanna shower. And yer stuff's over there."

Her eyes drifted to the backpack in the corner of the room, but she didn't make any effort to move or speak. The mouthful of pizza was taking all of her attention. Face sighed as he turned toward the bathroom, untucking his shirt and letting the dirt fall all over the floor.

Author's note: RATING IS GOING TO GO UP IN THE NEXT SECTION! If you don't want to read adult material, skip the next "chapter" (It will actually be posted as an "interlude"). You should be able to pick up in Chapter 5 without missing anything essential. However, you will have to change the story list page to display "M" rated material if that's how you find this story.


	6. Interlude RATED M

**INTERLUDE**

The water ran red down the drain. Not brown but red. The dirt here was somewhere between stop-sign red and copper colored. He felt it run from his hair, down the sides of his face, in a stream that hit the floor of the shower stall with a crackling sound. The cool water felt incredible against his heated skin, and he tipped his face up to look right into the spray, closing his eyes at the last second. God damn, that felt good.

Soap in hand, he rubbed the caked dirt off his hands and the layers of salt from dried sweat off his arms. His muscles ached with the constant tension, knotted and twisted from stress and lack of sleep. He'd not let down his guard, not fully, since they'd left LA. He'd not let it down at allsince yesterday morning in the van, with his team around him. Being on his own while on assignment wasn't something he ever worried about, but he sure as hell didn't relax when there was no one to watch his back. Particularly since he had someone he was supposed to be watching over. He'd been aware of every sound, every shadow, and every degree of temperature change since the first bullet out of his gun back in the van...

He took a quick moment to glance at the thin cuts on his legs from the thorns that had ripped up his pants. He was glad he hadn't been too terribly attached to those clothes. There was certainly no saving them at this point. He sighed as he scratched his scalp under the water, pulling back mud under his fingernails. How had he managed to get somuch dirt in his hair?

The bathroom door opened just as he lifted a handful of shampoo up to his hair. Murdock. He sighed. He had a sneaking suspicion - must have just been the quick glimpse he'd caught of his friend's eyes - that he was about to hear every detail of the past two days from the point of view of one Howling Mad Murdock. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have minded. But he hadn't really sleptin what seemed like forever, and he'd been on an adrenaline high since early that morning, and he knew he was irritable. And tense. And miserable. Though markedly lessmiserable now that he was getting clean.

The other problem with a talkative Murdock was the fact that he would expect participation in the conversation. And again, ordinarily this would have been acceptable and even appreciated. But at this particular moment, Face simply didn't have the energyto recap the day's events. The chase that had only paused long enough for them to refuel – thank God – and the aimless wandering back and forth in search of a town somewhere east of a place somewhere on a road that took half the day to find again. Every time he thought he'd lost the cars for good, they somehow showed up again. The final chase had ended no more than twenty minutes ago. He was still feeling the adrenaline course through his veins. It was the only thing that was keeping him on his feet.

He was glad the team had gotten the van here, and that it was running. It had been pure coincidence that he'd seen it when he did. It was a fair amount of luck that enabled him to make his way back here once he lost those damn black cars. So much of where he stood right now had been left to chance. If they hadn't gotten the van running, if they hadn't parked it out behind the hotel where he had been able to see it from the backroad, winding through the neighborhood at breakneck speed, if he hadn't been able to find his way back by noting the shapes of the trees in the fields. And if he hadn't managed to avoid every single cop the entire day. He was still trying to figure that one out.

Murdock sure was being quiet. Maybe he'd just dropped the clothes and left.

_Yeah, right._

"Murdock, you in here?"

No answer. He must've been imagining that door opening.

He tipped his head back under the spray and felt the soap run through his hair and down his neck and back. With one hand, he blindly reached back and adjusted the water temperature, heating it up in an effort to ease the tense cords of muscle in his shoulders. He was sore, and he could feel the constant stream of stress taking its toll on every part of his mind and body. Muscles were stubbornly refusing to relax, and his hands still hurt from gripping the handles of that damn bike so hard. His mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts that he hadn't been able to sort through yet. Who were these people who chased him around for the entire day? Where did they get their funding? How were they so well organized?

What did they _want_?

The opening shower door startled him, and he turned, blinking back the water. Not Murdock. Ashley. Naked, muddy, and dirty Ashley. He stared, dumbfounded. Of all the things he'd expected to see, he sure as hell hadn't expected to see her.

"Let me guess," he started, eyeing her carefully. "The shower in the next room's not hot enough for you?"

She smiled as she stepped into the shower next to him, pulling the stall door closed behind her with a coy, shy look. His eyes ran up and down her body as she stepped forward into the water and as her hands came up to either side of his face, instinct kicked in. His arm slid around her waist, holding her as she pressed in close and kissed him.

The reality of the situation hit him almost immediately. Woah, this was a bad idea. That realization was like a bucket of ice water, and he grabbed her arms as he pushed her away. "Ashley, uh…" Shit, what was he supposed to say to her? Caught off guard and not sure of his _own _resolve (damn, she was hot), much less his ability to convince her, his mind raced in an attempt to find words.

He could feel the tension radiating from her. The residual adrenaline from the day's events. His mind flickered back, quickly processing the day from herperspective. Her arms clutching him, heartbeat pounding against his back, the panic of near-death and rush of relief at narrowly avoiding it. She'd been just as adrenaline-soaked as he was, and was probably just as affected by it. Maybe even more so. He was at least _used_ to this sort of thing...

He was still holding her at a distance when he felt her fingers slide down his arms, leaving a trail of mud as the dirt ran off of her body and down the drain. The warm water seemed to evaporate off of her heated skin the instant it hit her into a cloud of steam. "What's the matter, Face?" she asked innocently.

"Uh, nothing!" He smiled tensely, lowering his hands from her shoulders but taking a step back. "Nothing, it's just… We kind of have a rule about fraternizing with clients. Tends to make the situation more um…" Damn it, he hated stumbling over his words. It didn't make for a very convincing argument. "More uh… dangerous?" That wasn't supposed to be a question, but it sure did come out that way.

He eyed the shower door, considering an escape attempt as she stepped forward again, transferring mud from her body to his as she pressed up against him, trapping him against the wall. "Nobody has to know," she whispered. "I'm not trying to get you in trouble."

"What, uh…" He chuckled tensely. "What _are _you trying to do, exactly?"

The wall was cold against his back, but he could feel his temperature rising in spite of it. Whether from the water, the steam all around him, or the naked woman pressed against him, he wasn't sure. She reached up and took his face in her hands, smiling up at him. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me, Face."

He laughed tensely. _That _was a trick question if he'd ever heard one. "No, it's not that simple, Ashley," he struggled, buying time as he inched his way to the door. "See, there's other things to consider like uh… like _timing_! I mean, this isn't exactly how you'd prefer to do this when we could, oh, say… go out after this is all over and have a nice dinner and a few glasses of champagne and maybe some candlelight with satin sheets but not –"

"Face!" She cut him off abruptly. After a moment of staring up at him with that dark look in her eyes, she lowered her gaze, watching her fingers as they trailed down his chest. "You and I both know we might not live that long."

He blinked, caught slightly off guard by her reasoning. But how could he argue with it? He opened his mouth to answer her, but didn't have a chance before she looked up again, meeting his eyes. The words caught in his throat. She still had the look of a predator, and he wasn't used to being prey.

"I'm slowly learning to take every moment as if it was my last." Her voice thick with lust, she looked him up and down in blatant appraisal. "Surely you can understand that?" One hand trailed down, past his abs and lower, and his eyes slid closed involuntarily as he felt her hand close around him.

Unable to voice another protest, he stood still as his body reacted to her slow stroking. His thoughts blurred. This _was _a bad idea. But when she put it that way… He felt his resolve weaken as her lips trailed along his jaw and up to his, her body pressed hard against him as she kissed him lightly, invitingly. He returned the kiss, hesitantly, and watched her carefully as they slowly parted.

He couldn't say that he really understood why she was doing this. He had a few choice words about her behavior yesterday and he sure as hell didn't trust her. But she was a beautiful woman, and she was naked, and she was willing. He didn't have to trust her to take advantage of that. In fact, it might actually work to his advantage if it could make her a little more pliable to his tactics. He still wanted to find out what the real story was on this case they were working…

Very slowly, he slid an arm around her waist as she stepped back into the water, letting it rinse the mud from her body. The next kiss was deep and slow, and he felt his clenched muscles relax a little as her hand stroked him to fullness. As they parted, she looked up at him, standing still as the water ran down her body. Whatever else she was, she was incredibly sexy standing there in front of him.

What started as another slow, gentle kiss took a turn as she suddenly forced him back, against the wall. She wasn't that strong, but he wasn't that sure-footed in the wet shower stall either, and he almost fell over before instinct kicked in and he pushed back. Hard. She gasped as her back hit the cool porcelain. Blindly, he found her hands and wrapped his fingers around her wrists, guiding her arms gently up, on either side of her head.

She didn't fight him, and he felt the adrenaline begin to flow, his heartbeat coming just a little bit faster. She was already breathing hard, her chest rising and falling against his as she drew deep breaths between closed kisses. His thoughts blurred, forgetting his hesitation as his body reacted to the reality of what was happening. He tipped his head down, tasting salt as he kissed and licked along the side of her neck. Her hips were thrusting against him already, and he'd barely even touched her.

"Heya Face?"

_Oh god, you've got to be kidding. _He knew this was a bad idea. His kisses drifted to the side of her mouth and down toward her jaw, slowing down but not breaking completely away as he answered Murdock. "Uh... yeah?" Maybe he'd go away after just a quick question.

"Did you want the grey jacket or the black one?"

Jacket? What jacket? What did he need a jacket for? It was like an oven out there. "Uh..." Ashley tipped her head forward, pulling his earlobe between her teeth and sucking hard. "Either one's fine."

"Okay, well, I brought 'em both 'cause I wasn't sure."

His breath caught as he felt her foot wind around to massage his calf. Very slowly, his hands moved down her sides, all the way to her hips, gently caressing as he went. "Man, you would not _believe _the time we had gettin' that van outta the ditch." _Oh, please Murdock, don't do this now._ "You know, all we thought we'd need was just to get a tow truck and just pull it out and move right on along down the road. But oh no. No no no no, sir."

Face's eyes locked with Ashley's, and he watched her for a long moment with a fair amount of skepticism. This was a bad idea in the first place. It was even worse now. But there was no hesitation in her eyes. No fear, no worry, no uncertainty. Just lust in her gaze and tension in every muscle of her body. She touched his lips for silence, and smiled wickedly as she moved forward, almost catching her finger in the middle of the kiss. He couldn't argue with that.

"We thought there was a junkyard back there. 'Bout five miles back, you know?"

She arched her back, grinding into him, and he slid his arms around her, lifting her up and against the wall. Her legs wound around his waist as she lowered her hands to hold his face again, still kissing him hard.

"Turned out to be more like _ten_ miles and it was _so _hot I swear I thought I was just gonna melt into a big puddle in the middle of the road."

He felt the heat of her opening, and brought the deep kiss to a close, moving his lips up along her jaw. He heard her breathing hitch as he found a pressure point behind her ear and massaged it with his tongue. "And then this guy - he had a tow truck but he tells us the damn thing hasn't run in years. Can you believe that?"

_Question. Answer him._ "Uhnn..."

"Huh?"

_Coherently._ "I said uh huh."

The momentary lapse was all it took for Ashley to shift to offense. He gasped suddenly as her hand closed around his shaft, stroking him firmly from base to tip.

"So he tells us – nice guy, really he was – he'll take us into town to go find a truck that actually _runs_." Face's eyes half-closed as he tipped his head down again, kissing and nipping at her neck and shoulder. Her long, slow strokes kept a steady rhythm, and he felt his blood rush to meet her hand. Every beat of his heart sent a new wave of pleasure through him. He pulled back to watch her eyes as he lifted her up a little. "... up the road to the _next _place which was like another ten miles away."

"Mmmnnn..." Using her hand to guide him, she lowered herself down slowly, encasing him in her warmth.

"I tell ya, Face, there's junk cars everywhere 'round here and none of 'em have working _parts_." Stretched to accommodate him, she pulled her legs up further, locking her ankles behind him. "They use 'em like _lawn _ornaments. Craziest thing I ever seen…"

She raised her hands to his head again, burying her fingers in his wet hair, nails raking his scalp. His lips parted, and he drew in deep breaths of the steam-saturated air as he felt his body climb. Her grip tightening in his hair told him, without words, what she wanted. He braced himself on the wall with one arm, holding her weight with the other as he moved faster, harder into her. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she arched, exposing her neck to his soft, warm kisses.

"So he gets there and takes one look at the van and says, 'I think we gon' need some _help_ to get this ol' girl out.'"

Her hands moved down from his hair to grip his shoulders tightly, bracing herself as her back slid up and down the wall. The hissing of the shower masked the sound of her panting, but his own pulse pounding in his ears was deafening. He kissed her hard, until she needed air, and felt her nails dig into his shoulders. Desire, tension, _need_ for release and a burning fire that ran along every single one of his nerves... His awareness of anything else was drowned out for a moment. He lost track of what Murdock was saying, almost forgetting that he was even there. It was only her finger against his lips that reminded him. A silent "shh" to quiet his gasp.

She traced his lips as he panted, opening his eyes to stare up at her as he thrust up and inside of her, her walls gripping him like a vice. "... knew it was a bad idea 'cause Tommy said so." Her wet finger slipped past his lips, past his teeth, stroking the side of his tongue as he gasped for air. A moment later, she replaced her finger with her tongue, claiming his mouth in a deep kiss. "... make one of those?"

_Question._ "Absolutely, Murdock," he answered as steadily as possible.

He'd barely finished when she grabbed his head and crushed his mouth against hers. Her body tensed up completely in his arms and a quiet, almost inaudible squeak vibrated from her lips to his.

"... out of the ditch he almost busted the front axle. BA was ready to kill 'im. And I just..."

She rolled her shoulders back as she arched off the wall, into him, her breasts crushed against his chest as he closed his eyes hard. He felt his grip on her waist tighten and he held her still as he thrust up, as deep inside of her as he could get. "... have any of the tools we needed to..."

Her lips were against his ear, gasping and whimpering softly. He paced his breathing with hers, hard and fast. Desperate. So close...

"Face, are you listening?"  
"Nnnnahhhhyeah..." He pulled away from her a little, feeling her vaginal fist spasm around him. "Yeah, I'm... listening."

"Oh yeah? What'd I just say?"

_Good God._

"About the... the tools?" He teetered on the edge of release, the pleasure between his legs throbbing and pulsing with every beat of his heart, pumping his blood right to his groin.

"Yeah, so we took it into a shop here, cleaned it all up, and we..."

Face dropped his head forward, pressing into her neck, and shut his eyes hard as the tension, stretched as far as it could possibly go, finally snapped. She pushed herself down, using her grip on his shoulders for leverage, as he released inside of her. "... Face, don't you think?"

"Ah...? Um... Yeah?"

He was dizzy. Hips still thrusting, he felt the strength drain from his body as he held her to the wall. She was shaking, her fingers running up through his hair again and holding his head to her neck. One hand moved down, over his back, feeling every ridge of the muscles in his shoulder and down along his spine. "... whole thing was one big long adventure into the backside of Hicktown when we could've been..."

Gradually, he slowed. Still panting hard, he pulled away to look into her eyes as she lowered her feet back to the shower floor. Fire flickered across her stare, and she smiled wickedly at him. He returned it, running his fingers up from her hips, along her sides, and around to the front of her body, flicking her nipples. She brushed back the few clumps of wet hair that had fallen into his face, and he let his eyes slide closed again, regaining his composure.

"Thank you," he breathed, just barely a whisper.

The kiss that answered him was silent, but it said all there was to say. He pulled back slowly, withdrawing one inch at a time. Murdock was still talking, rambling, and Face was suddenly realizing he hadn't heard a word of what he'd been saying. Hopefully it wasn't important.

He leaned in again for one last kiss, letting it linger for a moment before he stepped back and leaned against the opposite wall of the shower stall, watching her. She was a bit unsteady on her feet as she washed the dirt out of her hair, off her body.

"... 'cause then BA was all mad and stuff 'cause they didn't even do anything to fix it. But I dunno, I'm just glad it runs, know what I mean? I mean, yeah, okay, so bullet holes aren't the most fashionable statement we ever made but..." Murdock sighed audibly. "I dunno. It was crazy, Face. The whole thing was just crazy."

Face dropped his head back against the tile wall and took a deep, calming breath. "Not the first time the van's had bullet holes, Murdock," he reminded him, trying to catch up with the one-sided conversation.

"Yeah, but this time we got no time to fix it right now. And BA's just real irritable. I think it's the heat. But I am tellin' you, I'd steer clear."

When was BA not irritable?

Slender fingers on the side of his face made him open his eyes again. She'd finished. He smiled, taking a moment to admire her naked, wet figure before shutting off the water. He turned toward the door and held up his hand to stay her, changing his gesture to "wait one minute." He didn't see her reaction, but he knew she'd understand the message. After a brief pause, he opened the door and stepped out of the shower stall, closing it behind him casually.

Murdock was leaning against the sink, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his lips. "The dirt-monster hath been defeated!" he declared victoriously, tossing a towel from the counter beside him.

Face caught it and let it fall open, drying his hair. "Nothing like rolling around in the mud for camouflage," he mumbled.

"Ah, and under_neath _all the camouflage..." Face dropped the towel down from his head and glanced at his friend as he dried his arms. That silly grin on Murdock's face set off warning signals in his brain. He ignored them completely, keeping his expression passive. "... is a man with a story that I'd be willing to bet is even _more _interesting than our hunt for a new radiator."

Face chuckled. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, come on, I know that look." Murdock was grinning like an idiot. "You come in here all dirty and windblown, 'Woe is me, I had to sleep in the _mud_!'" He crossed his arms over his chest like a stubborn child. "But I don't wanna hear it from you, nope, not _one _word!" Still, that smirk. "Tommy told me what you've been up to. You and Ashley."

Face tucked the towel around his waist. "Who's Tommy?"

He should've known before he asked. But he didn't. And since he didn't, Murdock reached in his pocket to retrieve the fortune telling paper toy that had gained black, penned-in eyes and a big purple nose. He stuck his hand into it, bringing it to life. "Tommy, meet Face." He gestured. "Face, Tommy." He leaned a bit closer to his friend and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Tommy has psychic powers."

Face shook his head as he pulled the door open, grabbing the clothes off the counter. "I'm sure he does."

As Murdock and "Tommy" paraded out into the room, Face looked back, into the mirror. The shower door had opened a crack, and he gave a characteristic grin and a wink to the girl who peeked out at her. She smiled back, giggling softly, and he shut the door.

While it hadn't been at all what he'd expected, the afternoon's events had certainly not been unpleasant. And getting that heart-to-heart talk with her about what the hell was going on here was going to be even easier now than before. Was it really manipulation if he hadn't been the one to initiate it? With a smirk, he realized that he didn't know... and he didn't care.


	7. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"Lieutenant?"

This time, Face really had been asleep. Startled and disoriented, he opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He was lying on the floor in the back of the van, on his side with both arms under his head. It took him a moment to remember how he'd gotten there. "Huh?"

"Check the ammunition in the guns back there," Hannibal ordered. "Make sure we're at full power."

He blinked, pushing himself up a little. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ashley's eyes open. She'd been lying in the back of the van as well, against the other wall, but apparently she wasn't really sleeping. "You woke me up for _that_?" he asked, a bit irritated.

Hannibal didn't answer. Face hadn't really expected him to. He sighed as he sat upright, pulling his legs underneath him and turning his attention first to the case along the side before moving to the one at the back of the van.

"You were sleeping pretty deep," Ashley informed him quietly, sitting up and stretching. "We're almost there."

"Let's take a few extra clips just in case we need them," Hannibal directed from the front seat.

"Right." Face turned back and picked up one of the weapons just as Ashley moved up beside him.

"So are you gonna teach me how to use these?" she asked.

He chuckled. "Let's start you off easy before we move onto the assault rifles, huh?" She had to be joking.

She opened her mouth to answer, but didn't have a chance before Hannibal cut her off. "Ashley, we need you up here."

Face watched as she turned quickly and headed up to the front of the van. "That's the park?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes, that should be it."

"Alright, BA, pull in here and find someplace to hide the van. We don't want to send out an open invitation for anyone who might be following us."

"Right," BA confirmed, slowing down before making a sharp right turn into the state park. By the time the van had pulled off the road and behind the trees, Face was through loading the guns. He stumbled on the way up to the front as BA pulled the van to a stop. "All set, Hannibal," he reported.

"Hey, uh... just how heavily armed are we planning to be, Colonel?" Murdock asked. If he didn't know better, Face would've sworn that was concern in his voice.

"To the _teeth_," Hannibal answered through his cigar. "Why?"

"Well, 'cause I was just thinkin'..." Murdock mumbled as BA finally shut the van off. "How big _is _this cave, anyways?"

"I don't know," Ashley admitted. "I've never seen it."

"We don't wanna take anything with us we won't be able to carry _in _there."

"Agreed," Hannibal answered. "But I'm fully expecting that we'll be seeing our friends in black again before we leave here."

Face's brow furrowed as he considered that. "Why?" he asked. "If they'd followed us, we'd know about it by now."

"Think so?" Hannibal challenged.

He didn't have a chance to respond before Ashley cut in. "You really think they're still following us?" Her voice reflected deep concern. "I always figured they would guard the general area; they picked my father up sometime after he hid the list so they probably knew it was in this area. But I don't think they know it's in this _park_."

"They're not just going to give up now," Hannibal stated, climbing out of the front of the van. "Unless there's something you're not telling us."

Face opened the side door and climbed out, listening carefully for her response.

"No, it's just…" She took his hand as he helped her out of the back of the van. She sighed as she looked around. "I don't know. I'm just… paranoid, I guess."

Murdock jumped out with an irritated groan. "Man, it's hot out here!"

"It's a dry heat," Face pointed out with a slight smile. It could be worse.

"I don't intend to be caught off guard if those guys show up," Hannibal stated firmly, slamming the door shut behind him. "We take everything we can carry."

Face scanned the woods around him with a frown. Twenty seconds of standing outside of the air-conditioned van and already he could feel the perspiration breaking out on his forehead. So much for dry heat.

They were on a small hill. To one side was the road, winding further into the park. To the other, beyond the trees, was water – a large lake with at least one island in the middle of it. "Which way?"

Ashley looked around, and pointed toward the water. "There."

"What lake is that?" Murdock asked.

Ashley rattled off a Native-American-sounding name that meant nothing to Face, and he wondered why it even mattered. "It's one of the largest manmade lakes in the country," she finished.

"Have you been here before?" Face asked, curious.

"No. My dad told me what to expect though, and I did a little bit of my own research." She smiled slightly. "I figured if I was ever going to make it out here alive, I was going to need every advantage I could get."

Face watched her as he swung his weapon over his shoulder, then grabbed the extra 45 he'd set aside. "Come here." He gestured to Ashley as the rest of the team checked their weapons for themselves.

She took a few steps toward him, and he turned to stand at her back, wrapping his arms around her and guiding her hands up. Hannibal watched him out of the corner of his eye as he raised her arms out in front of her and placed the gun in her hand, pointing it off into the woods, away from them and from the van. His feet on the outside of hers, he pulled her back against him. "Cock it," he directed, moving her thumb up to the hammer. "Look with both eyes right down the center." He raised the gun to her eye level and aimed it at the biggest tree in his line of sight. "When you fire, it's going to kick back."

She nodded. "Okay..."

He smirked at the nervousness in her voice. "You ready?"

"Uh huh."

He caught the recoil of the single shot that rang out in the stillness, keeping the gun out in front of him. She laughed. "Wow. It _does _kick back."

"You get used to it," he assured her.

"Lieutenant?" He glanced up at the sound of Hannibal's voice. "C'mere a minute will you?"

Face stepped back, turning to follow Hannibal and taking the gun with him. A call from Murdock directed Ashley to follow after him as Face went with Hannibal around to the back of the van. "Something wrong?" he asked as Hannibal turned and leaned on the back doors with one arm.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hannibal sounded irritated.

"What do you mean?" Playing dumb wasn't going to work, but he had to be able to say he'd tried.

"You're giving her a weapon? Have you lost your mind?"

"The gun's got blanks in it, Hannibal." He wasn't a complete idiot. "It had one bullet and the rest are just blanks. But she doesn't know that and I just want to see what she _does _with it." He glanced after her. "She says she's never fired one before. If we run into any trouble, we'll find out if she's lying."

"Look, Face." Hannibal sounded annoyed. Face knew immediately that it had very little to do with the gun. "We have no idea who this girl is. Or what she wants, or what we're doing out here, or how she's connected to those guys who opened fire on us back there."

Face shrugged as Hannibal took the 45 from his hands and tossed it into the back of the van – away from the others so that it wouldn't get mixed up. "Well, I thought that's why we were here, isn't it? Go climb in the cave and see what we find? That is the plan, right?"

Hannibal glared at him, briefly, before pushing off the side of the van and starting after the rest of the team. "Don't get involved with her, Face," he warned. "We don't know what kind of game she's playing here."

"I'm not _involved _with her," Face protested, following a few steps behind. Hannibal glanced at him, raising a brow in a silent challenge. The look was all Face needed to confirm that the escapade in the shower had, somehow, become public knowledge. "Okay, so we have different definitions of involvement," he granted, gesturing as he attempted to explain. "For me there's _levels _of involvement. And the uh..." How could he put this delicately enough so as to quiet Hannibal's concern? "... level of involvement here is not too involved for the kind of situation where we don't know what we're dealing with." He smiled, satisfied with that explanation.

Hannibal was not as pleased. "You're playing a dangerous game, Face," he warned. "Whatever's in that cave, people want it badly enough to kill for it. I wouldn't be surprised if _she _wants it that badly, too."

Face frowned as he considered that. "What are you expecting to find out there?" he asked, curious.

"I don't know. I don't think it matters much. Whatever it is, it's valuable. And probably illegal."

"Illegal?"

"In all the times you've heard of people hiding and burying things to keep them safe, how often are they _not _illegal?"

"So, what, you're expecting gold bars? Stolen contraband? Drugs?"

"Like I said, I don't know."

Face didn't like that answer. But a new thought crossed his mind as he glanced up ahead at Ashley, just out of earshot for their quiet conversation. "She's still sticking to her story that there's a list out there," he stated. "That means she's going to have some kind of an explanation ready if it's anything else."

"And I'm looking forward to hearing it."

Something about the way he'd said that, as if it didn't matter, made Face raise a brow in response. "But?" he prodded.

Hannibal was quiet for a few steps before he finally answered. "Let's just say there's a reason we're going out there heavily armed. And it's less about those men than it is about her."

He didn't have time to explain more than that, and Face didn't have time to ask. The team up ahead had already reached the water's edge, and was looking around. There was no cave here. There were trees behind them and water in front. "Ashley?" Hannibal asked as he approached. "I thought we were looking for a cave."

"We are," she nodded. She pointed right out over the water. "That's it."

All four of them stared in the direction she was pointing. "That's what?" Murdock asked.

"Where the cave is."

Face turned his gaze away from the water and toward her. "You mean that _island _over there?" he clarified, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"Well, Face," Hannibal started, taking this twist in stride as he did everything else. "Looks like we'll be needing a boat."

Face turned from Ashley to stare at him, then back out at the lake. After a moment's pause, he sighed, shaking his head. He left the larger weapon with Hannibal, keeping only the 45 in his belt as he turned away without a word. Might have been nice to know they'd need a boat _before _they got out to the water's edge.

*******

They were already drunk. And a quick glance into the back of the unlocked car told him they intended to get a lot moredrunk. Four of them - two men and two women – sprawled, laughing, at the edge of the water, the boat anchored a few yards offshore. Face considered his options briefly before opening the back door and peering into the cooler. It was filled with beer. The one near them was probably full, too. He grabbed the brown paper bag instead, glancing inside. It was filled with cheap vodka, whiskey, and schnapps. He winced at the thought that anyone would actually drinksuch cheap crap.

"Hey, guys!"

They all four turned as he approached with a few bottles between his fingers.

"Heeeey maaan!" That particular man, at least, was high as well as drunk. "What's up?" The girl sitting next to him laughed hysterically.

"Hey, uh..." He came a bit closer before continuing. "Hey, my buddy and I have been out here all day and we got a couple bottles of vodka left over. No way I'll drink all this." He paused a few feet away and handed them over. "If you want them, they're yours."

"Wow, man, thanks!"

"Hey, no problem," he smiled.

"Hey, check it out, it's the same kind like we just bought!"

"Wow, awesome."

Face laughed. "We brought a _lot _of it out with us, so we wanted to get the cheapest stuff we could find. So we didn't break the bank, you know?"

"Absolutely, man."

He exchanged smiles with the very drunk woman in the bikini, noting she was more interested in him than the liquor. His eyes remained on her as he continued, even though she hadn't said a word so far. "We were planning to stay out 'til nightfall but we uh... found something."

_Come on, take the bait._

"Found somethin' huh?"

_Thank you very much._

"Yeah, well, _I _was actually the one who found it. But my buddy just wouldn'tbelieve me." He shook his head.

"What'd you find?"

He glanced back and forth between them, eyeing them all carefully. Drunk people were so much easier to con. They believed anything they heard. There was no way to make this challenging, so he might as well just make it fun. "Well, we took his boat out and we were walking around on the far side of the lake and we found..." He lowered his voice. "... buried treasure."

All four of them laughed. "Man! You're higher'n I am!"

He shrugged, not deterred. "I'm serious," he answered, completelyserious. "My buddy thought it was crazy, too. That's why he left with his boat. But I'm goin' _back _out there again just as soon as I can find a place to rent a boat. Hell, once I pull that treasure up, I'll be able to _buy _one." He tipped his head, staring up at the sky. "Maybe a nice yacht. And a house on the ocean."

"How'd there get buried treasure on that little island?" one of the guys challenged with a laugh.

"How should I know?" Face laughed. "But I'm tellin' you..." He lowered his head, letting the sun cast a shadow over his face for dramatic effect. "It's outthere. I'd even show it to you, except I don't have a boat."

They exchanged smirks, then looked back at him. "Well," the dark-haired boy grinned, "I got my dad's boat."

Feigning shock, Face looked out at the water. "That boat? That's yours?"

"Well, it's my dad's, but yeah. I'm borrowing it. "

He considered for a long moment, then smirked. "I'll tell you what. How 'bout you come out with me? And when we find the treasure, I'll even split it with you fifty-fifty."

"Well, where is it?"

"Out there." Face gestured expansively toward the lake. "Like I told you. It's on one of the islands."

"Well, let's go then." The kid laughed as he rose to his feet.

Face frowned as he considered the prospect of swimming from the shore to where the boat was anchored. "Yeeeaaah, there's just one problem."

"What's that?"

"I can't swim." _At least not without getting my clothes wet._

"You kiddin' me?"

"Unfortunately, no. Tell you what." He glanced back, over his shoulder. "There's a dock not far from here. How about I go there and you can come pick me up. Will that work?"

The boy eyed him skeptically, up and down. Then, finally, he shrugged. "Alright man. Whatever. No problem."

***

Ashley squealed with laughter and raised her hands to block her face as a splash of water just about drowned her. "Eek! Murdock!"

She laughed as he resurfaced and shook the water off of his face. "Wow! That's great! You should try that!"

She looked up at the tree he'd just jumped from. "You're gonna break your neck," she informed him, shaking her head with a smile. "The water's not _that _deep here."

"'Bout eight feet," he clarified, shooting a quick glance to where Hannibal and BA were sitting at the water's edge, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. He turned back to Ashley after only a quick glance around for himself and smiled at her. "Come on, you gotta try this!"

She shrieked again as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her a few feet toward the shore. Using her weight to propel her, she lunged at him, grabbing his shoulders and dunking him under. She gasped in a deep breath, anticipating the retaliation. As his hand wrapped around her ankle, she closed her eyes before she was pulled down.

As she surfaced again, laughing, the first thing she noticed was the sound of a motor. Murdock came up beside her and splashed her, obscuring her view. She shielded her face, turning away. But before she had any thoughts of splashing him back, he'd lost interest in the game.

"Faceman!" Murdock's voice made her turn back to see the fifteen foot, pea-green boat idling slowly towards them. "What took you so long?"

"What _took _me so long?" Face challenged, indignant but grinning just the same. A self-satisfied smirk at the brilliance of his success. "I was gone for an hour. This isn't a drive-thru, Murdock; you ordered a boat."

He cut the engine and waved to the shore where Hannibal and BA were rising to their feet. Then he tossed the ladder over for Murdock and Ashley to climb up. Murdock held it, gesturing for her to go first.

"Where did you get this?" she asked as she climbed aboard, taking his hand. "It's really nice."

"Of course it's nice," he replied, as if he were appalled at the thought that it would be anything butnice.

She realized he hadn't answered the question. "I was expecting a rowboat or something. Whose is it?"

"At the moment, it's ours," he grinned back. "Though at some point, we're going to have to return it to the kid who's looking for buried treasure on the other side of the lake."

"Who's what?" she laughed.

Face cupped his free hand to his mouth. "You guys comin'?" he called.

Hannibal and BA stood at the water's edge. "You wanna bring that thing a little closer?" Hannibal called back, just as Murdock pulled the ladder back in.

"What's the matter, Colonel?" he challenged. "Can't swim?"

Hannibal raised one finger in response, and Face chuckled as started forward slowly.

"Hey, Colonel, you wanna bring my shoes?" Murdock called. That Hannibal would bring the weapons was a given. "An' be real careful 'cause Tommy's sittin' inside!"

It was an outboard motor; Face couldn't get much closer if he didn't want the propellers hitting the sand. But he came within a few yards before the depth pole Murdock was holding in the water hit three feet. At that point, Hannibal and BA waded out to meet them.

After the ladder was pulled back in, and a brief-but-expected exchange between a very wet Murdock who wanted a hug and a grouchy, overheated BA who did nothug, Face backed the small boat up into the lake, then turned it around, heading toward the island.

***

"That's it!" Ashley broke into a run, stumbling over the uneven ground before the others had even gotten out of the boat. "That's got to be it!"

"Hey, wait up!" Face called after her, still untying his shoes. Murdock was in the water - already dripping wet from his earlier swim. The rest of them were more concerned about their clothing.

"Ashley, wait," Hannibal warned, much more authoritatively. She paused and turned back, waiting impatiently for them.

"That's it, I know it, I can see it," she rambled quickly. The boat rocked dramatically as BA went over the side of it, into the waist-deep water and towards her.

"We believe you," Face assured her. He jumped down into the water with a splash, cringing at the wet jeans as they stuck to his legs. That had to be one of the most unpleasant sensations he could think of.

He trudged through the muck, a step behind Hannibal and a few in front of Murdock, up to the shore. "I think that's it," Ashley pointed as they approached. "He said it you could see it from the water, on the south-most part. So it's got to be right up there."

Hannibal squinted into the trees at the rocky ridge beyond them. It didn't seem a very impressive cave above ground. And being that it was on an island, he doubted it went very deep underground. He scanned his surroundings carefully, searching for anything that seemed out of place. But nothing moved.

He let her lead, focusing his attention on mapping the area around them. This island wasn't very big. They should have plenty of warning if anyone approached; the sound would echo off the water's surface. They'd circled around once before landing and there was no other boat. They were alone here. Still, he wasn't about to be caught off guard.

"Wait," he ordered as she approached the dark mouth of the cave and ducked down to slip inside. She paused and looked back, but didn't straighten again. He turned to his team. "Face, BA, you stay here. If you see or hear _anything_, I want to know about it. Murdock, you're with me."

Murdock saluted in an overly dramatic display. "Right, Colonel."

Face leaned on the wall of the five foot ridge, looking up and around for the highest ground. Ashley was inside the cave before he had a chance to look back. He watched the other two follow, and glanced at BA, who'd already turned his back and was glaring out over the water. After a quick glance up behind him, Face turned and grabbed the ledge of the mini-cliff, pulling himself up so that he could see out over the other side of the island. As he crawled to his feet, he scanned the rustling trees.

Something suddenly felt... wrong. He couldn't explain why. It was instinct, a sixth sense gained in the jungles of Vietnam. Something up here - something he'd seen or heard or smelled without even knowing it - was not right. "Hey, BA...?" he called hesitantly, not quite sure yet what he was going to say to him.

"Yeah?"

"Come up here a -"

The sudden explosion took the ground right out from under his feet. He dropped, instinctively covering his head, and waited for the deafening roar to pass. The ground rumbled for a good thirty seconds before it finally subsided, and he dared a look up. Everywhere around him was a haze of dust. He could feel it sticking to his skin with the sweat. What the hell had just happened?

"BA?"

It took a few seconds before he heard any response. "Shit! Hannibal! Face, get down here!"

He scrambled to his feet, vaulting off the edge with no thought as to where or how he would land. He landed crouched in the dirt, and his eyes immediately locked on BA. His heart skipped a beat as he suddenly realized what that rumbling had been.

The mouth of the cave was sealed with dirt and rock.


	8. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

Hannibal coughed as the dust cleared, pushing himself up from the ground. The cave had suddenly gone pitch black, and the flashlight he'd been holding had slipped from his hand. They'd barely made it through the entrance when the explosion had hit. "Everybody alright?" he choked.

"I'm okay," Ashley answered hesitantly, her voice shaky.

"Murdock?"

"Over here, Colonel," he called back.

"You hurt?"

"I'm alright, but my leg is stuck."

Ashley found her fallen flashlight first, and switched it back on. "Oh, thank God it still works," she gasped in relief.

She pointed it in Murdock's direction, blinding him, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes. "Hey, watch it with that thing, _Chiquita_."

"What the hell just happened?" she asked, the flashlight beam darting frantically over the collapsed wall at the entrance to the cave.

Hannibal moved toward Murdock, focused on the rock that had wedged over his leg. "Ashley, give me a hand with this," he directed.

Between the three of them, they pulled the rock back enough to give Murdock a chance to withdraw his leg. Hannibal took the flashlight and shone it down, checking for injury. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Murdock answered confidently. "Just pinned my leg, didn't crush it."

"Good."

Ashley was studying the entrance, picking at the smaller rocks. The cave wasn't quite tall enough to stand in, and there was no way they would get the leverage to pull those rocks away.

"Earthquake?" Murdock guessed, not buying his own suggestion.

Hannibal didn't find the explanation satisfactory, either. "Explosion," he corrected. He glanced at Ashley. "Any chance you forgot to mention that your father booby-trapped this cave?"

If she realized it was sarcasm, she didn't react to it. She just stared at him, jaw dropped. "I... I don't know, I..."

For the first time, Hannibal had a chance to sweep his flashlight over the walls of the cave. He did so slowly, taking in every detail. It was a small cave; it was only about fifteen feet from end to end and, now that the entrance had collapsed, less than ten feet wide. The ceiling wasn't quite high enough to let him stand up straight. The walls were a mix of sandstone and red dirt.

He hadn't gotten all the way around the small room with the flashlight beam when Murdock's voice interrupted him. "Hey, Colonel, what is that?"

"What's what?"

Moving quickly, Murdock pointed to a spot in the corner with his light, where the rock wall met the floor. There was dirt piled up against the wall, obviously covering something.

Ashley crossed the distance and dropped to her knees, clawing at the dirt and withdrawing a metal box. Hannibal's grip tightened a little around the weapon hanging from his shoulder as she withdrew a key from her pocket and slipped it into the lock. He was cautious about what could potentially be inside that box. But when the top opened, she lifted out only a stack of yellowed papers, bound on one side with metal rings.

"This is it," she whispered, breathless.

Murdock moved closer to look over her shoulder with the flashlight. "Well, I'll be damned," he mumbled. "There _is_ a list."

Ashley dropped her head, and her shoulders shook as she clenched the papers with a white-knuckled grip. "This is really it. This is what he died for…"

Hannibal ignored them both, holding his gun out of the way as he leaned down and took the paper from her hands, using their light rather than his own. She let him take it without hesitation. It was, in fact, a handwritten list of names and addresses, all in California. To the left of each name was an eight-digit number, likely some kind of identification system.

"I want to burn it," she whispered, still sitting on her knees. "You have matches, right? I want it burned." She wiped her eyes roughly. "I'm afraid to even touch the damn thing…"

Hannibal flipped through the pages, hiding his confusion well. This was what they'd come here for? It didn't make sense. He hadn't expected to actually find a list here. In fact, this was the last thing he'd expected to find. And if there had been any papers, he hadn't expected them to be that list. Nor had he expected her to really want to burn them. Had she paid them to come all this way just to burn these papers? And were the papers that important that they'd been chased throughout the countryside with guns blazing?

He couldn't say with any amount of confidence that he actually believed that. But similarly, he could no longer say that he was totally convinced she was lying. Something wasn't right, but a lot of things – to his complete shock – were. The list was old; it had been here for years. It contained exactly what she'd said it would, and was where she'd said it would be. And she really did want it destroyed. Absurdly, trapped inside this cave with the more immediate problem of how they were supposed to get out, he found himself running back through all of the reasons why he'd been sure there wouldn't be a list in this cave. Why Ashley had been lying...

Apparently, Murdock was thinking the same thing. He pointed the flashlight at Ashley, careful to keep it out of her eyes. "Hey, listen - when your father called and told you where to find this list, did he ever say anything about why he called _you_ and not someone else? Like his boss, maybe?"

"Or why he would rig the entrance to explode if you ever came to _get _the list?" Hannibal added, eyeing her skeptically.

She stared at them, caught off guard and without an answer. "Maybe you didn't understand the question, Miss Carver," Hannibal started again after a moment of silence. "Let me make it a little clearer for you. Your story's got a lot of holes in it. And I want some answers. Some _honest _answers." He tossed the papers at her and she caught them in an awkward grip. "So start talking. What is that? Why risk your life for it? And who the hell are the men that are following you around looking for it?" He _would _have answers to these questions. He'd come all this way to get them, and there was nothing he hated more than not achieving his goal and getting what he wanted. What he'd wanted in this case was answers.

She looked back and forth between the two men, their flashlight beams pointed in the general direction of each other. Murdock wasn't offering her an escape. He wanted answers just as badly as Hannibal did. She took a deep, slow breath, and lowered her eyes to the ground. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I… guess I owe you guys an explanation."

Hannibal crossed his arms over his chest. "And it'd better be good," he added, waiting expectantly.

She looked at him briefly, then took a deep breath as she fixed her gaze on the papers in her hands. "I… wasn't entirely honest with you," she started.

"No kidding?" Hannibal answered.

She glanced up, her brow furrowed into a look of concern. "My father didn't work for the government. He ran drugs out of Mexico."

In her peripheral vision in the dim light, she saw Murdock roll his entire head – not just his eyes – at the explanation. "Aw, man…"

"I was afraid you wouldn't help me if you knew!" she rushed. "I was just –"

"Your father ran drugs out of Mexico," Hannibal redirected her, eyes locked on her as he waited expectantly.

She swallowed hard, clearly anxious. "Anyway, well, he uh… he kept meticulous records. This list is, uh… well, it's what remains of his records." She shifted uncomfortably, biting her lip between words as she stuttered through her explanation. "It's not a list of... well... what it looks like. It's a code. And I know the code. I _made _the code. It's not extremely complicated, just something I know the key to." She looked up quickly, scanning to see how that confession would be received. But there was no visible reaction. "I was just a kid. I didn't understand what I was doing. What _he _was doing. Not until I got much older."

Murdock sighed deeply and exchanged glances with Hannibal before covering his face with his hand. This just got better and better by the minute. Seeing the exchange, she stopped again, and it took some further prodding from Hannibal to get her to resume her speech. "So the men chasing you…"

"… were competitors of my father's," she finished. She squirmed uncomfortably. "You've got to understand, I really do want this destroyed. I don't want to be any part of this anymore." She lowered her head even further with a look of shame. "But I lied about them not knowing where it is. They know where it is. It's just no use to them without having me to tell them what's on it. So they've been terrorizing me for years, trying to get me to come here and get it."

"In which case, we're right smack in the middle of a trap," Murdock realized, dropping his hand again.

Hannibal had already thought of that. It took precedence over all of the other questions he had right now. "Well, Miss Carver," Hannibal interrupted, jerking the papers out of her hands, "lying to us was by far the stupidest thing you've ever done."

She lowered her head. "I know," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I just really thought you wouldn't help me and I… I needed help."

"We might've been able to help you if you'd been up front with us," Hannibal continued angrily. "If what you're saying is true, you _never _should've come here with us."

She stared at him. "What…? What do you mean?"

His eyes narrowed at her. He didn't like this. She'd hired them for a reason; she knew she was in danger. Why hadn't she given them all the facts? It was careless and stupid on her part, and he couldn't say he really understood her logic. Why lead them into a trap without _warning_ them? That was a really good way to get herself killed. Didn't she think about things like that?

"You took the two things they wanted and put them together in the same place." What kind of an idiot didn't think about how stupid that was?

"And lucky for us she did."

The unexpected and unfamiliar voice seemed ironically right on cue. It was immediately met with two guns - one each from Murdock and Hannibal. Ashley scrambled back with a squeak, falling over backwards and dropping the booklet as she struggled to see who and where the voice was coming from. She remembered belatedly that she had a working flashlight, but didn't have a chance to use it before she was blinded by a bright light shining right into her own eyes.

"You must be Ashley," the intruder stated. "So nice to finally meet you."

Hannibal's eyes flickered to the collapsed entrance. How did this guy get in here? Hannibal didn't dare divert his eyes away from his target to look into the darkness beyond, but he knew there had to be another entrance back there, and well hidden. He'd swept the cave with the flashlight before entering, and hadn't seen it. And he hadn't gotten around to a closer inspection because they'd been distracted by the buried list.

"Who...?" Ashley stammered, backing up further until she was up against Murdock's legs.

"Who are you?" Hannibal demanded, far more confidently than she'd managed. But it was really a stupid question. Even without the suit as a dead giveaway, he knew exactly who this was.

"That's not really important."

The intruder's flashlight beam drifted to Ashley and Hannibal stared past it, struggling to see the man's face. But all he could see was outlines. Several of them. He'd fully expected to encounter these people, but he hadn't expected that they would want to take Ashley anywhere. It really had been beyond the point of stupidity to bring her along. But there was no way he could've known that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal watched Ashley pull herself up to her feet, using Murdock for balance. She pressed against his side, trying to hide behind him. Murdock's arm circled her instinctively, protectively, as she struggled to find her footing.

"You two are gonna put down your weapons nice an' slow," a second voice ordered. "We don't want no trouble with you." The flashlight beam drifted right to Ashley's face. "We're just here for her."

"Just hand her over," the first man demanded, "and nobody gets hurt."

As she gasped and tried to make herself small, Murdock guided her behind him. "I don't think so, _muchacho_," he answered darkly.

"Please..." Ashley whimpered.

"What do you want with her?" Hannibal demanded, wondering if these guys would confirm her story.

One of the flashlight beams drifted to Hannibal's face. He was nearly blinded by it, and he lost the outline of his target. But if he pulled that trigger aimed in the direction of that light, he knew he'd hit something sooner or later. And he had lots of bullets... They had to know that, too. But their demand that the weapons be laid down hadn't been followed through. They were disorganized. Unprofessional.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," the man retorted. "At any rate, thank you for coming. You made my job so much easier." His accent was northern. Or at least not from around here.

From behind him, footsteps shuffed along the dirt floor. Hannibal tensed his finger on the trigger, in spite of the fact that it occurred to him that a. he couldn't see what he was shooting and b. these walls were at least partially made of stone. Any bullets fired in here would ricochet in all directions. And the room wasn't very big. Damn it…

"Ashley, darling, you'll be coming with me," the man declared. "You're going to do some translation work for us."

Translation work? Well, at least their story seemed to confirm hers.

She backed up further, against the wall. "Please don't," she begged. "Please don't hurt me. I can't read the list."

"Oh, sure you can, honey. You'll see." He moved. Hannibal moved too, stepping in front of both Murdock and Ashley. But the collision was short lived. A few poorly aimed punches, hunched over in the dark, and then the guns were pointed all around. The flashlights had clattered to the floor, and the scattered light enabled Hannibal to see his opponents.

Five of them crowded into that narrow corner. Black clothes, black boots, black pistols. Three aimed at him, the others at Murdock. Hannibal could take the first shot, he knew. And he could easily put one of them down. But then he'd be dead. The barrel of the gun was an inch from his forehead.

"Ashley?" the man tried again, exceedingly calm and polite even as he stared Hannibal down. "Don't make me come back there and get you."

Hannibal didn't move a muscle as two of the guns lowered and the men moved around him. He heard Ashley scream and struggle as they dragged her along the floor. But her small frame was no match for even one man, much less two.

"Now, let me explain to you how this is going to work," the man spoke again. "We're going to walk out of here. We are going to take her with us. And you are going to forget that you ever saw this place."

He took a small step back, and the other men began to file out, backing into the darkness until only one gun remained on each of them. The man swept up the handwritten booklet and backed away quickly into the darkness. The other two moved much more slowly, covering him as he dragged Ashley away. "And if I see you again," the man threatened, his voice almost sweet, dripping sarcastic politeness, "I am going to blow her fucking head off. Understood?"

Neither Murdock nor Hannibal answered as the men backed away, guns still raised. In a moment, they were gone, through the entrance of what apparently was a tunnel. Murdock dove for the flashlight and shined it after them as Hannibal darted as quickly as the crouched posture would allow. The angle of the narrow passage hid the shadows well. No wonder they hadn't seen it.

As he turned the corner to follow, Hannibal was immediately met with muzzle flare. He dropped back instantly, almost stumbling over Murdock as he leaned back to avoid the bullets. He hadn't expected that tunnel to be so long that they would still be making their way down it, and would be willing to turn back and fire.

Instinct guided Hannibal and Murdock both into position, one crouched, one standing, ready to turn the corner and fire blindly at the men who were firing on them. But then Hannibal realized the risk, and put a hand on Murdock's shoulder. "Wait," he instructed. "We don't want to hit the girl."

***

"Was that gunfire?"

If BA even heard him, he didn't show it. He was too busy trying to force aside a three hundred pound rock from the collapsed entrance to the cave. Face stopped still and listened to the rattle of semi-automatic gunfire. He stood up straighter. "BA, _listen_!" he ordered, spinning around. "Where is that coming from?"

"Right here." A voice above him made him turn back, and he immediately raised his gun to the intruder. "And the next one goes right through your head."

He blinked. He'd been so engrossed in his efforts to clear the entrance to the cave, he knew he hadn't been paying very close attention to his surroundings. But one would _think _he could've heard a boat approach.

He didn't lower his weapon right away. The guy he was facing had a .33 pistol and he had an M-16 assault rifle. He was also pretty sure he was a better shot. It might be more evenly matched if the weapons were switched. But a moment later three more figures appeared behind him, and one more above, and two off to the side. _Ambush..._

He felt a pistol press against the small of his back. To his right, there was one at the base of BA's skull. Two in front, and one on either side. They were surrounded. Any sudden moves wouldget them shot. And Face had learned a long time ago that it wasn't worth it. Gunfights had the potential of ending in a lot of bloodshed. Passivity lowered an opponent's guard and opened them up for manipulative tactics. And since he didn't know, at the moment, what was going on with the other half of the team, he had to play it safe.

He raised his arms, holding the weapon loosely until it was taken from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw BA do the same. The other hand of the man behind him jerked the handgun out of its place in the back of his jeans.

Face wanted to move. He knew, even now, that he was far from helpless. The whole scene played out in his head. Twist back, use the man behind him as a shield and his gun as a weapon. He'd only need as long as it would take to pull the trigger twice and both men standing up on the cliff would be facedown in the dirt. But he didn't know Hannibal and Murdock's status. And if he killed – or even injured – these guys, he'd be forcing this confrontation into a very deep hole where there would be no negotiations. Besides, they hadn't done anything to make death necessary. They were just threatening. It was just a power play. So he remained still, smiling calmly up at the man who seemed to really think that he had him under his thumb. That much was clear by the guy's self-satisfied smirk.

Damn fool sure didn't know him very well...

A woman's scream somewhere in the distance made Face tense up suddenly. The men moved away, guns still trained on Face and BA, who turned slowly to watch the retreat toward the water and the team's boat. Hadn't they brought their own? Slowly lowering his hands as they retreated out of range, Face debated which direction to head – after the men or towards the scream. But for BA, there was no debate. He pursued the men as they turned and ran, ignoring the screams that grated on Face's nerves. Ashley...

But they couldn't get split up further.

"BA, wait!"

BA wasn't waiting. Face hadn't really expected him to.

_Make the call._

He bolted in the direction of the screaming, scrambling up the steep rocks. Unarmed and unsure of his footing, the only thing he had on his side was determination. But as he came over the hill, and the black-clothed men with Ashley came into sight, he knew it wasn't going to be enough. Six men. She was throwing herself on the ground, trying to slow them as they carried her, kicking and screaming, toward an unfamiliar boat that was slowly approaching to pick them up. Suddenly, the lead man turned and pointed a gun right in her face, inches from her eyes. Face couldn't hear what he said, but it was enough to stop her from screaming.

They dragged her into the water and threw her into the boat with less care than a child would've given a rag doll. Face could feel his fingers digging into the tree he was pressed up against. No way to stop them. Not while he was unarmed, and this far away. By the time he got to them, they would be long gone.

Where were Hannibal and Murdock?

He heard the boat the team had arrived in rattle away, and the one he was watching backed up as the last man climbed aboard. He watched as it sped off as well, out onto the lake. They were going to have some difficulty getting off of this island.

He skidded down the hill, avoiding the trees, down to the shoreline. It wasn't very far. He could still see the faces of the men in the boat as he came to a stop. He could still see Ashley. His eyes narrowed as he watched them pull away.


	9. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

"Drugs?"

"That's what she said."

Face stared. "So in other words, she led us right into a trap and didn't even _warn _us?"

Murdock reflected for a moment before nodding. "That's how it looks, yeah."

"So what about the explosion?" The heat was ridiculous, even in the shade. Sticky, wet jeans were no longer his primary concern. Now he was glad for the little bit of relief evaporating water gave. He wiped his face with the shirt he'd just wet in the lake, and moved it around to the back of his neck, smearing the sweat over his skin. They had to pick the hottest day of the year to be stranded out here.

"I'm not sure whether we tripped something that caused the explosion or whether they detonated it," Hannibal admitted, staring out over the water at the land on the other side. "If I had to guess? I'd say it was the latter."

"Don't make no sense," BA declared, pacing back and forth. If the heat bothered him, he had a funny way of showing it. "Why wouldn't she warn us?"

"She said she didn't want us to turn down the job because of the drug connection," Hannibal offered.

Face turned to study him. "You don't believe that," he realized. He didn't really believe it himself, but he was more than a little confused about the whole thing.

Hannibal was quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure," he finally admitted. "It's not impossible. Stupid, but not impossible."

"How did you get out of that cave?" Face asked.

"There's another entrance," he said. "A manmade one. Pretty elaborate, too; way on the backside of the hill. Probably took someone quite a while to dig it out."

Face raised a brow. "Dig it out? Out of _stone_?"

"It's not solid rock. The west wall is dirt." Hannibal shrugged.

Face stared. "Who would dothat?" he asked, confused. "I thought her father hid the list here because no one knew about this cave."

"Well... she never actually said that," Hannibal reminded him. "One would just assumethat if you're going to hide something that important, you'd hide it somewhere nobody knew about. But apparently, they've known about this list and where it was for a long time."

"How did they find us?" Face asked. "How did they even know where to go? They had to be on the island before we were because I guarantee you no boat came near this island. So they couldn't have followed us."

"Oh, they've definitely been here before," Hannibal said confidently.

"How do you know?" BA demanded.

"She told me as much," Hannibal explained. "And besides, they knew about the other entrance before we did."

"Great," Face sighed. "That's just wonderful." He dropped his wet shirt in his lap and leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. Sitting here, stranded on this island while those guys got further and further away was hard enough. Knowing they'd been set up, and not even sure by whom... that made it worse.

"Okay, Hannibal," BA said. "How we gonna get off this island?"

"What we need," Murdock started, not sounding the slightest bit concerned, "is a _helicopter_." He turned and smirked at Face.

"Don't even think about it, Murdock," Face replied, deadpanned.

Hannibal, standing at the water's edge, glanced back over his shoulder. "Face, how far do you think it is to the mainland?"

Face shielded his eyes from the sun as he came a few steps closer. "I dunno. Maybe a mile?"

"No way," BA protested. "It ain't that far."

"At least," Face added, looking out over the water. "Maybe further."

"It never looks as far as it is," Murdock agreed.

"Anybody up for a swim?" Hannibal grinned.

Face frowned. "We can't take the guns, if we do that."

"We can either come back for them in a boat," Hannibal shrugged, "or we can find something that'll float and push them across."

"Would have to be something pretty heavy duty," Murdock pointed out. "Those M-16s aren't exactly feather light."

"And we ain't got no tools," BA added.

"Come on, guys," Hannibal grinned. "Think of it as a challenge."

Glances were exchanged all around. Finally, with a sigh, Face turned and headed down the shoreline in search of driftwood.

***

The driftwood raft, just large enough to hold the weapons, hadn't been the greatest idea any of them had ever had. It broke apart while they were still in fifteen feet of water and they nearly lost all of the guns. As it stood, they'd managed to drag them to shore - nearly drowning themselves in the process – and were now faced with a new problem.

"So now what, Colonel?"

Stranded in the state park, all four tires and most of the electrical wiring in the van slashed, Murdock's question seemed relevant.

"I say we find the fools that did this," BA declared, "and make them pay! And we get the girl back, too!"

"Well, that's a very noble idea, BA, but the problem is," Hannibal stared down at the ground, chewing his cigar, "we haven't the foggiest idea who took her or where. And even if we did, we currently have no way to get there." Anger also tended to make Hannibal's sarcasm just a bit more biting than normal.

"You'll come up with a plan," BA said with a glare. "You always come up with a plan."

"Somehow I think you're missing the point of this conversation," Face answered, not glancing up from the engine compartment. If he was angry, there was no sign of it.

"I ain't missin' the point!" BA shot. "We gotta get her _back_! And we gonna make them _pay _for what they did to my van!"

Face sighed. He wasn't going to argue with him. It was pointless.

Sprawled out on the grass, Murdock glanced back and forth between the two of them. He was too deep in his own thoughtsto be angry about the van. Besides, BA was mad enough for all four of them.

"Alright, knock it off," Hannibal cut in, stopping BA from making his next angry but pointless threat. "The first thing we need to do is decide whether or not to pursue this any further."

Murdock looked up. "What do you mean, Colonel?"

"I mean, she _did _lie to us," he reminded. "And she led us into a trap. Even if she was just being stupid, that still needs to be taken into account. She could do the same stupid thing again."

"What's the alternative?" Murdock asked.

"We cut our losses and move on."

That received a deep frown from both Murdock and BA. Face was leaned too far over the engine compartment – nosy even though they all knew he couldn't fix anything under there - for anyone to see his expression. "We all need to be clear," Hannibal continued. "If we do this, it's a rescue. And I wouldn't trust her a second time when she lied to us the first. We're not even entirely sure whose side our target is on – ours, theirs, or her own."

"Well, they were the only ones shootin' at us," Murdock pointed out. "An' she didn't look too happy 'bout being dragged off with them."

"Maybe not," Hannibal granted. "But she _wasn't _honest. That could be dangerous. Even if she felt she had a good reason. In the best case scenario, she was working both ends against the middle."

"And worst case scenario, they're going to kill her as soon as they get her to decode that information," Face offered. His arms were inside the engine compartment now. "And if I might point out, we still haven't gotten paid yet. So I say we go after her." He lifted the alternator out of the van with a smile. All its connections had been severed. BA growled.

"They may kill her whether we go after her or not," Hannibal pointed out. "We have no idea where to even start looking. It could be a while before we find her. There's no guarantee on this one."

Face set the alternator on top of the oil pan and brushed his hands together. When that didn't work, he cleaned off the grime on his already-ruined shirt – stained red with the sand from the lake water. "Well, assuming no one around here can tell us which way they went, we'll have to start back at the beginning," he suggested. "We've still got all that information on her that was such a headache to go through. But if they were after _her_, and not just the list, chances are there's somethingin her past that could give us a direction."

"Running down all of those identities she used and the people she used to get them will work as a last resort," Hannibal granted. "But I don't think it's the best use of our time when the trail is still warm."

Face leaned back against the open hood of the van, crossing one leg over the other and his arms over his chest, getting comfortable. "What do you suggest?"

"_She's_ not our enemy," Hannibal reminded. "Theyare. What do we know about them?"

"They busted up my van!" BA answered roughly. "Twice!"

"Besides that," Hannibal smiled.

"They gotta pay for what they did to my van," BA demanded, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Well," Face answered, "I don't know if being chased around on a motorcycle qualifies as getting to know them - and maybe I'm off base here," he allowed, "but in all the times we've dealt with drug operations, have we ever run into one where everybody dresses in black suits and drives the same black car?"

"No," Hannibal granted. "Are you saying you don't think it's drugs?"

Face shrugged. "I don't know what it is. If she says it's drugs, I don't have a better suggestion. But that's not my point."

"Okay, Face, get to the point," Murdock grinned from his place on the ground.

"If I had to guess, I'd say they're pretending to be government agents."

"Explain," Hannibal invited.

"Well, the thought was always there," Face pointed out, gesturing offhandedly. "Who else has the resources to track her all over the country?"

"I'm still wonderin' about that," Murdock admitted.

"And it's not really answered by your theory, either," Hannibal pointed out.

"No," Face agreed. "It would make more sense to say that they _are _working for the government. Except for that little bit about how the government denied any knowledge of a list when she went to them. And the fact that they walk into buildings and start shooting. They don't actlike government agents. They're just trying to give the illusionthat they are."

"That's crazy!" BA shot. "Why would anyone pretend to be a government agent?"

"Uh... because it works?" Face answered, with a grin.

"Man, BA," Murdock said with a touch of sarcasm, "I think maybe you'd better sit down over there before you hurt yerself."

BA growled at him, but was ignored. Face turned his attention to Hannibal again. "You actually had a conversationwith them," he reminded. "Did they sound like federal agents to you?"

"I'm sure they're not federal agents," Hannibal agreed readily. "But they didn't approachus as federal agents." He studied Face to see how he would back up his theory. "They set up a roadblock and opened fire as soon as we came within range. If they were trying to convince us, there were more effective ways..."

"Or maybe they're just not very good at it," Face shrugged. "But you explain to me one other reason why they're all dressed in black suits in 110 degrees. And why they all drive the same kind of car. They walked right up to the door of the house where we hid last night and knocked. I don't know if we're the ones they're trying to convince. But they are definitely running somekind of a game here."

"Well, if you're right, Face, that's one hell of a scam." Murdock groaned, folding his arms up under his head and closing his eyes.

"Oh, yeah it is," Face agreed enthusiastically. Murdock grinned at his obvious admiration. "Their organization, communication... Who knows how long they've been planning this. And they're obviouslywell funded. Even if they're idiots, I envy their resources."

"It'd be like if there were fifteen of us instead of four," Murdock pondered, eyes closed and head still down. "You could get us a bunch of Buicks and we could drive around lookin' like government agents if we wantedto."

"Alright, so let's say they're pretending to be government agents," Hannibal granted. "What difference does it make?"

"Well, then the question becomes _why_?" Face answered. "And how? And what kind of operation run by what kind of person would think of something like that?"

"Well, if they walked up to someone's door like you just said," Murdock pointed out, "maybe the scam wasn't for us."

"Or maybe they were stupid enough to think that we'd actually buy it," Face shrugged.

"Okay, so next question. How?" Murdock continued.

Hannibal considered that thoughtfully. "They have a lot of money. That may or may not be explained by the drug operation, depending on how big it is."

"Well, if it's big enough to have that many people involved," Face suggested, "and to be running strong for at least six years since that list was buried, it's probably a lucrative business."

Murdock sighed. "I'm back to the part about how they managed to track her the way they did."

They all paused to consider that for a moment. "Some kind of tracking device?" Face pointed out the obvious.

"Maybe they were working with local agencies," Murdock considered. "Going back to why they were posing as government agents."

"No," Face answered firmly. "They didn't keep an open line of communication with the police when they chased me around on a motorcycle through fields and backyards and into oncoming traffic. They didn't think to call the local police who have the manpower, the training, and maybe even a helicopter to actually catchme."

Murdock shrugged. "Just a thought."

"If it's a scam," Hannibal thought out loud, "who'srunning it? Figuring out who's behind it will give us the why. And maybe even the where."

"Okay," BA agreed impatiently. "So where do we start?"

Hannibal was quiet for a long moment, chewing his cigar. "How long will it take you to fix this van?" he asked.

BA frowned deeply. "I need parts. And new tires." Clearly, he was more than a little pissed about the repairs he was going to have to make.

"How long?"

"Once I get all the parts I need? It'll take me all day to fix everything they cut up. Maybe two."

"Start dismantling it," Hannibal ordered. "We'll get you the parts." He turned to Face. "You said they walked up to the house where you were hiding last night."

"Yeah," Face confirmed.

"Did anyone answer?"

He nodded. "Yeah, there was a man there."

"Did he ever get a good look at your face?"

"No."

"We'll need to talk to the park rangers at the front gate and see if they can tell us which way those men headed. Then as soon as we get back to town, we'll get these parts and bring them back to BA. Then you'll need to go back out to that house and find out if there's anything the owner can tell us about the men he talked to. Especially if they had a name. Or a badge. Who did they claim to be?"

Face glanced up at the sky, and the sun that was beginning to descend toward the western horizon. "It'll take me four hours to drive back out there," he reminded him. "And that's _after _we get a car."

"Well, the alternative is that we wait here while the trail gets colder," Hannibal pointed out. "They've already got a good head start, and they'll probably be stopping somewhere for the night." He frowned as he studied the van, and considered how long it might take to get it up and running. "If we get a lead from the locals when we start asking around, we'll leave right away. Otherwise, we work through the night to get the van back up and running, and you get out to that house first thing in the morning."

***

Questioning the local townspeople had gotten them nowhere. Even the park rangers at the gate hadn't bothered to note which way the black cars had gone. Ine night of deep sleep – even if only in the back of the van - was all Face had needed to feel one hundred percent better. After a grand total of five hours, 0400 rolled around and he dragged himself and headed out on the road. Now, four hours later- back the way that they'd just come – he was growing tired of guessing numbers and colors on Murdock's friend, Tommy the Second. (Tommy the First had met an untimely end when the ink coloring his eyes and nose had run from the water at the lake.)

"He says... he's tired of driving down these boring roads and wishes there was something to see."

"Well, that makes two of us," Face sympathized.

"Three," Murdock corrected. He folded the contraption with a final sigh, and set it in his lap. "This drive was a lot faster when we were going the other direction."

"I was asleep when we were going the other direction," Face reminded. "I didn't realize it wasso far."

"Isn't this like the fourth time we passed that trailer?"

Face glanced at the mobile home set in the middle of four acres to the right of the road. "Only if the state highway winds in circles," he mumbled. "We've been on the same road since we left. There must just be a lot of people living in mobile homes around here."

Murdock mumbled something under his breath that Face couldn't hear. Something about a magnet. "What?"

"Was just thinkin'," he said, louder. "Isn't this like tornado alley or somethin'? Who the hell would want to live in a trailer when there's tornadoes comin' through yer backyard?"

"I have no idea," Face admitted, turning his attention back to the road.

"You ever see a tornado, Face?"

"Nope."

"When I was a kid there was one came down right over top of us, just right up above our car."

He gestured to demonstrate the threat of the descending tornado. Face raised a brow as he glanced at him. "No kidding?"

"Yeah, we jus' come home an' stopped by the mailbox to get the mail," he recounted. "Look up an allllll the branches of the tree up over us are goin' straight up in the air."

"Really," Face commented, interested.

"Uh huh." Murdock turned to look out the window again. "Next thing I know, we's flyin' outta the car into the house. Momma shoved me in the coat closet an' climbed in there with me."

Face glanced back and forth between Murdock and the road, but the story seemed to end there. "Did it damage your house?" he finally asked.

"Naw, went back up in the sky. It never touched down. Never forgot that though."

Face turned his eyes back to the road as the little town they'd stopped in finally came into view. "I didn't think they had many tornadoes where you grew up."

"Was when we's livin' up north. Hey, that's it!" He'd noticed the town, and it cut off his train of thought like a guillotine.

"Well, that's the town," Face confirmed. "I'm not sure how far ahead the house is."

"Well, we broke down about fifteen miles west so it can't be too far. As long as it was off this road."

"It was off this road," Face said confidently. He'd been careful never to lose the road, even when they'd walked a good distance away from it.

The little house wasn't at all far from the town. If they'd kept walking instead of stopping, they would have reached it before it got too dark to see. Hindsight was always 20/20. Face pulled the car up the dirt driveway slowly. By the time he'd put it in park, the man was already standing at the door, peering out. "Now you're _sure _this guy ain't gonna recognize you," Murdock checked.

"Positive," Face assured him, checking his jacket pocket before stepping out of the car. On the other side, Murdock got out. The blast of heat hit them like a furnace, and Face scanned the windows for an air conditioning unit. No such luck. They'd just have to make this quick...

The man was out on the porch by the time they approached. "Can I help you?" he asked, clearly defensive.

Face smiled politely, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He flipped it open, flashing one of the three badges he'd managed to hold onto in all his years of impersonating government and police officers. Murdock had one of the others. "I'm special agent Jim Brudrick with the FBI, this is my partner Pete Tansend," he recited. The names had to match the ones on the ID with the pictures that had been replaced with their own. "We understand there was an incident here regarding some men claiming to be federal agents."

The man's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?" he challenged. "I didn't report that."

Face smiled. If his target had been a woman, she would've melted right then and there. Face kept talking, smooth and confident. "We've been following these people for almost five years now," he answered. "We make it our business to know who they've victimized, in anticipation of the day that we _will _catch them."

"Did they steal your car?" Murdock asked, his voice just as smooth and practiced. "Because that's their normal MO."

The man blinked, dumbfounded for a moment. Good. He was off guard.

"Yeah," Face started with a sweeping gesture. "They come up to the door and keep you distracted while one or two of them break into your car and steal it. Then they all run off, like they're trying to chase the thief."

"I... as a matter of fact..." The man frowned. "Yes, actually, they... they stole my motorcycle."

Face glanced at his partner, brows raised. "Well, that's a new one. I didn't even know any of them could ridea motorcycle."

"I'm surprised they hadn't tried it before!"

Face turned back to the man and smiled sympathetically. "We're very sorry; we don't mean to make light of your situation. It's just that they've been using the same plan for so many years, I didn't think they'd ever change it." He slipped his badge back into the inside pocket of his jacket. "We just have a few questions for you, Mr. uh...?"

"Richards," the man offered, extending a hand.

"Mr. Richards," Face nodded, shaking his hand. The defenses had been broken down. "Would you mind if we stepped inside? This sun is really hot."

***

"What did you find out?"

Face closed the car door and headed toward the van with his coat over his shoulder and a stack of pizza boxes in his free hand. "The guy was surprisingly helpful," he answered. "He remembered names and everything. Unfortunately, it isn't going to get us very far."

Hannibal walked around the front of the van, wiping greasy hands on a rag. "Why not?"

"I made a few phone calls. I figured they'd probably get their IDs from an office close to home, and the guys said they were from the FBI's missing persons unit in San Diego. But no one in San Diego has ever heard of them. I called Washington just to make sure he didn't get the city wrong, but there's nothing. These guys don't exist." He reached into the bag Murdock had put in the van and grabbed a beer, handing it to Hannibal before taking one for himself.

"Amateurs," Hannibal smirked. "Making fake IDs that aren't verifiable."

Face sighed. "Yeah, well it served their purpose. I filed a complaint - as the local sheriff - that someone was out here impersonating federal officers. But that's about all I can do with it." He glanced around. "Where's BA?"

"Under the van," Hannibal answered, distractedly. He immediately continued the train of thought. "If they said they were from missing persons... did they say who they were looking for?"

"Yes. Ashley Doldman."

Hannibal raised a brow as Face took a bite of the pizza. "Doldman," he repeated. "Not Carver?"

"Definitely not Carver," Murdock confirmed, sitting down cross-legged on the grass. He leaned back, craning his neck to look under the van. "Hey, BA, there's food."

"He couldn't remember if it was Doldman or Boldman," Face admitted. "But neither one of them match any of the aliases she gave to us."

"So now the question becomes who's lying to whom."

"Well, that was always the question," Face smirked. "Now it's just getting a little more interesting."

Covered in dirt and grease, BA rounded the front of the van. From the look on his face, he was clearly not happy. Face pointed toward the pizza, directing him without a word.

"And we still have no idea where they're headed," he added.

"See," Murdock started, "this is what happens when we don't do allour homework beforeit's due."

"In our defense," Face cut in quickly, "we didn't have a whole lot of time. She was pretty anxious to get going and it would'vetaken a while to go through all of that information. And it seemed like a pretty easy job..."

"Well, we didn't do it then, but we get to do it now," Hannibal declared. "We're going to have to find out who she is in order to find out what somebody would want with her."

"In other words," Face mumbled. "Back to square one."

"Only this time, we're more pressed for time," Hannibal added. He frowned as he glanced at the van, considering it. "Depending on who they are and what they wanted with her, there's no guarantee they'll keep her alive."


	10. Chapter Eight

**PART TWO**

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"Thank you for your time, ma'am," Face smiled as he descended the steps on the side of the porch slowly, looking back over his shoulder at the woman standing in the doorway. "And again, I'm very sorry about your daughter. We'll get this mess cleared up just as soon as we possibly can." She smiled sadly, and he turned away, skipping down the last two steps and toward the waiting car.

"Let me guess," Murdock offered, as Face opened the passenger side door and slipped in. "Janice Corrier died a few years ago."

"Five," Face specified, shutting the door behind him.

Murdock sighed as he put the car in reverse, looking over the back of the seat. "So glad we came all the way out here just to find that out," he mumbled.

Face grabbed the notebook out from under the seat and flipped it open. One more identity to cross off the list. So far they still had no idea who Ashley Carver/Green/Doldman really was. But they'd tracked down almost all of her aliases, starting with the one she'd said was her real identity. It wasn't. Most of them, like "Janice Corrier", had died several years ago. Others were still living. Some were completely fabricated. Those had been the easiest to eliminate. Now they had a shorter list, but still no direction. And it had been too long.

"Ya know, I hate to say it, Face..." Murdock sighed, "but what're we doin' here?" He glanced at Face as he pulled out onto the road. "It's been two months already. Even if we find her - what's the chances she's still alive?"

Face frowned as he turned his head to look out the window, leaning on the door. He didn't want to answer that. He'd already considered the answer. He'd considered it about three weeks ago, as he was considering just how monotonous their lives had become. They couldn't devote themselves to another case with this one still open - and it was just taking so damn long to run down all of these names and people.

It did seem pointless, if he was honest. It was also ridiculously expensive and time consuming. But what were they supposed to do? It wasn't like they could just throw up their hands and forget about her, even if the thought _had _crossed all of their minds. They were probably the only ones who knew or cared that she'd gone missing. Perhaps just as importantly, they were still under her employ until both parties agreed that this assignment had been successfully completed and they were _paid_. Or until somebody found her body, whichever came first.

"You got a better suggestion?" he asked, holding his chin in his palm.

"Well, no, I'm just sayin'..." Murdock was just as uncomfortable with the possibility of failure as he was. And probably even _more _uncomfortable with the fact that she probably _was _dead.

"What time is it?" Face asked offhandedly.

"'Bout quarter to six."

"Hannibal and BA won't be at the restaurant until seven," he mumbled. "Let's take the car back before we go meet them."

"How much longer you think we're gonna do this, Face?"

Finally, Face turned and looked at him. It wasn't that what he saw was unexpected. In fact, it was exactly what he had anticipated. But actually seeing the concern and the moral dilemma written on his best friend's face was a bit more of an emotional blow than he'd been expecting. "I don't know," he admitted. "I guess until we find her."

"What if we _don't _find her?"

Face studied him. Murdock was glancing back and forth between Face and the road, clearly distraught. He wanted an answer, something reassuring to tell him. But they both knew there was nothing. The simple fact of the matter was, sooner or later they were going to run out of money. They were going to _have _to move on to other jobs, whether or not they found her. "Then I guess we don't find her, Murdock. What do you want me to say?"

Murdock forced a smile to cover up the lines of worry on his face, but it wasn't convincing. It was the same look he had every time they pulled away from a town, no closer to finding her than when they'd come in. But even this look didn't concern Face as much as the gaze of hopeful expectation that would be present at the next town.

***

"Anything?" Hannibal asked as Face slipped into the chair across the table. To his right, Murdock sat down and immediately reached for the menu.

"Man, I am _starvin',_" Murdock declared. Face glanced at him briefly, but considered it pointless to mention that he was holding the menu upside-down. At least that serious, worried look on his face was gone.

"Janice Corrier died in a car accident five years ago," he informed him, looking over the wine list. "I saw her picture when I talked to her mother. It wasn't her."

"I still don't know why we can't do this over the phone," BA grumbled. "Why we gotta go run all over the country and talk to these people?"

"You can cross off Alice Rogers, too," Hannibal offered, ignoring the complaint. "We found the guy who sold her the information for that and he was glad to help us in any way he could."

Face glanced up as the waiter approached, and smiled. "A bottle of your best Zinfandel, please."

"You guys got anything like a hamburger?" Murdock asked, frowning at the menu.

"This ain't a McDonalds, fool!" BA shot as the waiter stared, not sure how to react.

"How about pizza?" he tried, glancing up. "That's Italian, ain't it?"

"Uh... our pizzas are on the back page, right..." It was then that he realized the menu was upside down and he hesitated, not entirely sure what to do.

"I want an extra-large cheese and pepperoni pizza," Murdock declared, folding the menu shut and handing it to him. "Extra cheese, and just a _little _bit of sauce. And make sure it's spread _evenly _'cause there's nothin' worse than gettin' a mouthful of nothin' but sauce in one bite and then the next bite is _dry_."

The waiter blinked, and opened his mouth as if to protest that pepperoni and cheese was not on the menu, but he thought better of it. He turned away without another word and Face watched him with a slight smirk, reaching for his water. "I still think we're gonna find her somewhere in the Midwest," he declared, glancing across the table at Hannibal. "Her accent wasn't East Coast."

"Sir?"

Face looked up at the waiter who approached from the right, looking anxious. "Yes?" he asked. He was immediately wary of the intrusion.

"Is your name Templeton Peck?"

If he wasn't cautious before, he sure as hell was now. But he hid it under a confident smile. "It is," he answered. He could feel the eyes of the others burning holes into this man, but all of them remained cool and casual. It wouldn't be wise to make a scene until they at least knew what they were dealing with.

"There is a woman on the phone," the waiter said with a slight sigh of relief. "She says it is urgent."

He blinked. There were several questions in his mind, not the least of which was how in the world anyone knew he was _here_. He exchanged a quick glance with Hannibal as he stood, setting his napkin on the table beside his plate. He walked with the waiter to the desk near the door, and smiled as he was handed the phone. "Thank you."

The man smiled and nodded. Face waited until he had turned away before putting the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

"Face!" The whispered voice of a frantic woman made his eyes widen noticeably.

"Ashley!" he hissed, turning toward the wall and hunching over the phone. "Where the hell are you? How did you know where to - "

"I don't have much time," she cut him off in a rush. "They only left me for a minute."

"Left you where? Where are you?" Any other questions could be answered later.

"They're coming to the restaurant! You have to get out of there now!" she raced, nearly tripping over her words.

"What?" It took him a moment to even process just how shocked he was. "What are you talking about? How did you know that - "

"Please, there's no time to explain. You've got to get out of there!"

His eyes immediately turned to the wall of windows overlooking the parking lot, just in time to see the familiar black cars pulling in. He stared at them for a moment with mixed feelings. If they came in here and started shooting, people were going to get hurt. But at the same time, they'd just warmed a very cold trail by showing up here.

"Where are you?" he demanded.

"It's a hotel," she stammered. "It's a big hotel and I don't know where it is but it's called the Baymont."

"Can you see anything?" He turned and waved, trying to get the attention of any one of the three still sitting at the table. But his wave turned into a shift of position and a pleasant smile as a waitress walked by and stared at him. The instinct to avoid making a scene was strong. But at the same time, he realized that if those men came in here, they could end up making even more of a scene. "Outside? In the room? A phone book? What _city _are you in?"

"I don't know!" she cried. "They left this number on the dresser and they left me tied up and I managed to..."

"What do you see outside?"

The few seconds it took her to get to the window were excruciating. He waved again at the table. He could feel his pulse picking up, the all-too-familiar adrenaline racing into his bloodstream. The cars outside were parked. The doors were opening. A quick glance back, and he gave a short, shrill whistle. A few people looked. More importantly, Hannibal looked.

"There's a..." she started, "a diner and a truck stop and um... it's a freeway."

"What freeway?" He pointed outside, where all four doors on all three cars had opened."Can you see any signs?"

"It's um..." Face's heartbeat skipped as he ducked around the wide, decorated pillar near the phone, out of the enemy's line of sight. All three of his teammates were rising to their feet. "It's pointing... it's an off ramp... it's a junction east to Tulsa."

Tulsa? She was right back where they'd started! One major city west of Tulsa... "Can you see the name of the freeway anywhere?"

Murdock and BA had already disappeared through and into the kitchen, looking for a back door. Hannibal was waiting for Face, but his look warned of his sense of urgency.

"No... no, I can't see anything!" On the phone, Ashley was sobbing. He had too much on his mind to even care, much less sympathize. "Face, I'm so scared! Should I run? I'm not... there's nobody here. I could probably make it to the..."

"No, don't run." That could get her killed. He dared a quick look around the pillar. They were almost to the door. Damn it! "Just stay there and keep calm. Don't let anyone know you called us. We'll be there." _Think, Face! What do you need to find her? _"Open the door and tell me what room number you're in," he demanded.

"Face!" Hannibal was not impatient but he couldn't wait any longer. Heart beating in his ears, Face crouched a little, ready to sprint. He'd already mapped out his path.

"It's..."

Another few, agonizing seconds. He could almost hear the footsteps of the men as they opened the door and stepped inside. They locked eyes with the hostess who needed a head count. Then they locked eyes with Face.

Face saw the man reach into his jacket at the same instant that he heard the answer through the phone. He didn't process her words until several steps later, after he'd dropped the phone and sprinted, head down and hunched over, weaving through the tables to the familiar chorus of screams and shattering glass. 308. Room 308. Baymont hotel, west of Tulsa.

He nearly tripped on the people who had hit the floor, hands covering their heads as if that would somehow shelter them from the gunfire. Hannibal was returning fire from the door of the kitchen, giving him some cover. He ran toward him and followed a step behind as Hannibal turned and ran full speed through the kitchen, dodging the cooks and appliances and finally stumbling out the back door. They looked both ways, trying to get their sense of direction. Where was the van?

Screeching tires. Face moved first, pulling out ahead of Hannibal. In a full sprint, he spun around the corner of the building and right into a hailstorm of bullets. He doubled back so fast he fell right on top of Hannibal. Pain. How badly was he hurt? He couldn't tell. He couldn't even tell _where _the pain was. Too much adrenaline...

Shooting pain made him cry out as Hannibal jerked him to his feet. More gunfire. Automatic weapons. The van appeared and he managed to catch Murdock's hand as Hannibal threw him through the open side door of the van. "Go, BA!"

Confused and disoriented – an effect amplified by the pain – Face stayed still, bleeding on the carpet of the van. His heart was pounding. His thoughts were a blur. He was only vaguely aware of the rounds of semi-automatic gunfire echoing from Murdock's weapon. The side door shut hard as they swerved out onto the street.

"Face? You alright?"

His eyes slid closed, and the world around him faded. He never had a chance to answer.

***

His arm hurt. So did his head. A quiet, involuntary moan escaped him as he reached up with his good arm to rub his forehead.

"Wakey, wakey, Faceman..."

His eyes weren't even open yet and he was already dreading the idea of being awake. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours." Murdock talked as if he'd just asked about the weather. "You're okay. Hey, who was on the phone with you?"

He groaned. Phone? Face was still trying to figure out whohe was. Then he'd figure out wherehe was and howhe'd gotten there. There was no phone in that equation. He opened his eyes and saw Murdock hovering over him. Eyes closing again, he turned his head away. "If I'm so okay, why are you staring at me like that?"

"Leave him alone, Murdock!" That rough voice was just as familiar. "Man's been _shot_. Doesn't need your crazy face bein' the first thing he sees."

_Too late._ "Yeah, a tall blond would be preferable," he slurred. He opened his eyes to look across at BA. Hotel room. BA was pacing near the door. "Think you can get one of those for me?"

"Glad to see you're feeling better." Hannibal. Eyes slowly coming into focus, he turned the other way. Murdock had, in fact, backed off. Now it was Hannibal at the side of the bed, offering a plastic cup of water.

"Eh, what's a little gunshot wound?" Face managed, pushing himself up carefully. He hadn't had his yearly quota of gunshot wounds yet.

"The bullet went through," Hannibal said as Face took the cup, using his good arm. "You were lucky. Lost a fair amount of blood, though. You're going to have to take it easy for a while."

"That explains why I feel like I just rode a roller coaster one too many times." He sipped the water slowly.

"You took a big risk staying on that phone so long," Hannibal pointed out. "Why?"

Phone. Everyone wanted to know about the phone. He shut his eyes and searched his fuzzy memories for a phone. He was running through the kitchen... Who was he running from? The men in the black cars. The cars that pulled up and he saw them through the window while he was talking... on the phone. Trying to get the team's attention. Now he remembered. "It was Ashley," he mumbled.

"Ashley?" Hannibal asked, clearly shocked. "How did she know where to find us?"

"Better question," Murdock corrected, "how did those nasty dudes in the black cars know where to find us?"

"I don't know," Face answered, shaking his head. He only did that for an instant before he realized that such a movement was going to make him hurl. The nausea crashed over him in waves. "I didn't have a chance to ask. But she knew they were coming."

Hannibal's arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes narrowed as he considered what he was hearing. Something wasn't right. He was sure they could _all _smell it. How _had _they been found? And maybe more significantly, why the sudden switch from defense to offense? His team had been circling the country in search of that woman, and the men who'd taken her had been running away - always one step ahead of them. Why suddenly change tactics and come after them in a restaurant of all places?

"Did she tell you where she was?" Hannibal asked.

"Yeah, she said she was in a hotel." Face finished the last of the water and reached over to set the cup on the bedside table. "There was a freeway and a sign pointing east to Tulsa." Eyes sliding closed, he relaxed back against the headboard.

"Tulsa, Oklahoma?" BA shot. "That's right back where we started!"

"I doubt it's a coincidence," Hannibal considered.

"She's in uh..." Face was struggling to remember the important details that he'd risked his life for. It took energy, and he didn't have much of that. "She said the name of the hotel was the Baymont. And she's in room 308." He opened his eyes just slightly and looked up at Hannibal. "But I dunno how much longer they'll keep her there if they find out she's making phone calls."

"It's an eighteen-hour drive from here to Tulsa," BA stated.

"And she's _west _of Tulsa," Murdock added. "If my memory serves me... there's nothin' west of Tulsa for at least a hundred miles."

"Next major city," Face slurred. He was getting confused. "There's only two of them." Blood loss would do that.

"How fast could you fly us there, Murdock?"

"In what?" It wasn't sarcasm. It was a sincere question.

"In whatever we can get our hands on," Hannibal answered.

"I ain't goin' in no plane."

Murdock thought about it for a moment. "I could probably rent a plane," he concluded. Then he smiled. "We don't normally play 'round these parts so I shouldn't have any trouble finding some poor unsuspecting sucker to loan me one."

"Get on that," Hannibal ordered. Murdock turned away and began rummaging for the phone book. "How long of a flight is it from here to Tulsa?"

"Uh... prolly 'bout three hours. Straight south."

"Guys...?" Face sounded as disoriented as he felt. His eyes rolled back into his head and he shut them.

"Yeah?"

"I think... I'm gonna go... sleep now..."

If anyone answered, he wasn't aware enough to notice.

***

"Face, you awake?"

"Nnnh hnn..."

"We're almost there. How's your arm?"

He considered it briefly, and gradually opened his eyes to stare down at the floor of the plane. He was strapped into a seat. He was dizzy and disoriented. But the pounding headache had faded a little. He glanced down, looking at the bandage wrapped around his arm. It had bled through, but it didn't appear to still be bleeding. "S'alright," he mumbled.

The plane was small – two seats in the front and two in the back. To Face's left, BA was strapped in securely. Hannibal was turned around in the seat in front of him, studying him. Face flexed his fist a few times, feeling where the muscles in his biceps were torn. At least it wasn't his dominant arm. "We're going to have to change these bandages, though."

"We'll do it as soon as we land," Hannibal informed him. "We used the last of the supplies before we left."

Face let his head rest back against the seat as the little plane rocked and jerked with the turbulence. "Hey, Hannibal?"

"Yeah?"

"Does this seem... I don't know... strange to you?"

Hannibal chuckled. Everything about that girl and the people who were chasing her seemed strange. "Does what seem strange?"

"I mean... didn't they ever take her away from that area? What is she doing down there?"

"I'll be sure to ask her as soon as we get her out safely," Hannibal stated.

"You know..." Face frowned deeply, "I don't think I've ever distrusted a client quite as much as I distrust her."

"You and me, both," Hannibal stated.

Face sighed deeply and turned his head to the side, using the last few minutes of the flight to rest. They didn't know what they were getting into. And he needed to be on his guard. That wasn't going to be easy with an injury... and so many questions running through his head.

***

"Face, get us a key." He had already started moving, and he didn't stop to question the order as he stepped out of the rented car. "And Face!"

He turned and walked backwards a few steps, listening. "If she is here," Hannibal warned, "they'll be expecting us."

He waved with his good arm and turned away. On the way to the door, he loosened his tie and reached up to ruffle his hair. As he stepped through the lobby doors, he dragged his feet all the way to the desk. Her nametag said "Jasmine."

"Can I help you?"

"Oh, I... certainly hope so..." Brow furrowed, hands twisting nervously in front of him, Face shifted from side to side. "I seem to have... locked all my keys in my car. I..." He laughed tensely. "I can call my brother to bring me a spare set when he gets out of this conference but it's not ending until almost 10:00 tonight and I just..." He sighed deeply, his shoulders rising and falling. He could tell she was waiting for him to finish so that she could offer the spare key, but he gave it another few lines just for good measure. "This whole weekend has been an exhausting and horrible experience and I really just want to go and... sleep for a good ten hours or so. Is there _any _way I can get a spare key? It's room 308, should be under my friend's name, Chris Folder?"

He watched as the girl shuffled the papers, eyes scanning upside down at the same pace as her own. He found it just in time. The room was registered to a Thomas Benefield.

"Any chance it might be under a different name?"

"Perhaps mine," he suggested. "I can't really remember who made the reservations, you know. Thomas Benefield?"

She smiled as she looked up. "That's it. But I'm afraid I'll need to see some ID."

"Oh sure, no prob-..." He stopped patting his pockets suddenly with a wide-eyed look of pure horror. "Oh, _no_! My wallet's in my car too!" He turned away and paced a few steps, frantic and quickly escalating in both volume and desperation. "Oh my... I can't _believe _this is happening! My wallet with my money and credit cards! I can't even order a _pizza_!" He stopped, throwing himself forward on the counter with his head in his hands. "_Why _does this always happen to me? How do I manage to screw up a nice, relaxing weekend getaway by doing something so _stupid_ as locking my _keys _in the car? _How_?"

Clearly, she was caught off guard by the outburst. "Mr. Benefield, I..."

"My... I..." He stammered a few times in panicked-but-exhausted frustration. "Is there any way...? I mean...? How can... Can I _call _my brother and... and you can talk to him and you'll see, this is all such a huge..." He turned away again, walking a few steps. "Oh, I just can't believe this. _Why _does this always happen to - "

"Mr. Benefield," the woman started, cutting him off. As he turned back, he saw the look of sympathy on her face. Jackpot. He watched as she opened the drawer and fumbled through it for just a moment before holding out a gold key.

"Oh my God, thank you," he rushed. "Thank you _so _much!"

"As soon as you get your key out of the car, I'll need you to bring that back," she stated firmly. "Is it a deal?"

"Oh, it's _absolutely _a deal. Thank you so, _so _much. I..." He was already backing out of the lobby, towards the hallway. "I'll put in a _great _word for you with your supervisor in the morning, I promise!"

She laughed as he backed around the corner, out of sight. Once he could no longer see her, he turned and let the façade fall away as he headed for the exit at the end of the hallway. He smiled politely at the elderly couple that stepped out of the room on his right, and edged around the vendor filling the machines. He opened the glass doors, noting the stairwell just before them, and then the door to the outside. A quick, sharp whistle caught BA's attention, and the three of them filed out and crossed the parking lot.

"I want to keep this as low-key as possible," Hannibal warned as he stepped through the open door. "And I want _you _to stay out of the line of fire," he ordered Face.

"Yeah, I figured as much."

"There are a lot of civilians in here. Is there another stairwell at the other end of the hall?"

Face nodded. The exit signs had been on either end. "And an elevator in the center, by the lobby."

"Murdock, I want you watching the far stairwell," Hannibal ordered as the door to the outside closed.

Murdock turned immediately, heading into the stairwell.

"Face, you're on this side. BA and I will go in."

"Yeah, that sounds real low-key, Colonel," Face smirked.

Hannibal stopped, a step above him, and turned. "Let's try and do this without any bullets, huh? There are too many people who could get caught in the crossfire."

Face put up his hands, not protesting. "Hey, I've had my fill of gunshot wounds for one day," he reminded. "You don't need to worry about me."

Their footsteps echoed off the empty walls of the stairwell as they jogged up to the third floor with relative ease. Face lagged behind, moving much more slowly. He knew better than to start running again when he'd been recently injured. Once they reached their floor, Hannibal checked the hallway before stepping out, his weapon in hand but pointed down at the floor. Murdock followed, and jogged down the hallway to the opposite side, pointing out the room as he passed. The four of them moved like a well-oiled machine, in perfect sync. Face took a position against the wall as Murdock disappeared into the stairwell to check it. With BA and Hannibal on either side of the door, the colonel fit the key neatly into the lock and turned it.


	11. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE**

It was quiet. Thirty seconds since Hannibal and BA had disappeared into the room and still no sound. Face's eyes narrowed as he studied the door, then turned his attention back to the stairwell. Under normal circumstances, he would've preferred to be the one stepping into the room. But he was not at full strength, and he knew it. So he stayed put, waiting silently. His posture, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, would have fooled just about anyone into believing that he was perfectly relaxed. Anyone, at least, who couldn't see that inside his jacket, his hand was wrapped around the handle of his gun, finger ready on the trigger.

From the silence in the room, he couldn't guess whether or not he was going to need it. It was either really good or really bad. Maybe Ashley wasn't even in there. He fidgeted. He didn't mind the waiting game, normally. But it bothered him when he couldn't see what was going on.

"Face!" Hannibal hissed, poking his head out the door. "Get in here!"

He moved automatically, just as Murdock emerged from the stairwell to stand guard at the opposite end of the hall. "Get those handcuffs off her," Hannibal ordered as he and Face exchanged positions, Hannibal stepping out to guard the door.

Realizing that he'd subconsciously drawn his weapon, Face holstered it again as he stepped into the open room, past the bathroom just inside the door. The darkness in the room was cut by sunlight as BA pulled the shade aside. Face surveyed his surroundings carefully. Two men were unconscious on the floor. Ashley, her head lolling from side to side in a half-conscious sway, was handcuffed to the bed frame. One look at her told him that she'd been beaten more than once. Her face was bruised and there was dry blood from a cut on the side of her face. Some of the wounds were old and some were new. Some were still very fresh. Her lip was still bleeding. She was definitely drugged. But at least she was alive.

"Hey," he greeted in a whisper as he knelt down next to her, reaching into his jacket pocket for his lock-picks. "Long time no see."

"Coming..." she slurred, her head dropping to the side. "Coming to... run away..."

"It's okay," he assured her, turning her hand so he could see the keyhole. "Just hang in there."

"The... the list..."

"Forget the list, Ashley," Face said, twisting the picks in the lock gently, delicately.

"No... the list... help list... help..."

"What's she sayin'?" BA demanded, again checking the door that led into the next room. Apparently, it was locked.

"Something about the list," Face answered.

"I don't like this." BA moved back to the window and looked out at the parking lot.

Face chuckled, a little nervously. "What's not to like?"

"Too quiet. Somethin' ain't right."

"Nnnh..." Ashley fell forward onto Face, jarring his otherwise steady hands. He clenched his teeth, but held back the obscenities that came to mind as he tried again. Finally, the lock clicked. He pulled the cuff off her wrist, and turned toward the door. "Hannibal!" he hissed.

Hannibal was immediately in the room. "Take her," Face whispered. He couldn't carry her with an injured arm even if he wanted to, and she sure as hell couldn't walk on her own.

BA was already backing toward the door as Hannibal bent down and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "Let's get out of here," he ordered.

"I'll be right there," Face assured him. But he didn't head for the door. He turned instead to the bedside table, pulling the drawer open.

"What're you doing?" BA shot. "Let's _go_, man!" Hannibal was already out the door.

"I'm getting really tired of this game," Face answered quickly, shuffling through the drawer's contents. "When we get out of here, I want to hand her that damn list, get paid, and walk away." Maybe it wasn't logical to look for the list, but it was the first thought he had. They'd been hired to retrieve it, and he'd be damned if he was going to walk away without it if it was in this room.

"Man, _forget _the list!" BA's patience, wound tight with the tension and danger, was at its end. "They probably got twenty copies of it already!"

Door. Danger. Face's sixth sense alerted him before any sight or sound, and before he had a chance to even consider BA's logic. By the time he heard the knob turn, he was already facing the door that joined this room to the next. BA felt it too, and spun to face it. By the time it cracked open, both men were ready to fire on anything that came through. They never had a chance. The door slammed open, and instantly the room was filled with the deafening sound of semi-automatic gunfire. Face dove for the side of the bed, the only cover he could find.

Machine guns. He didn't see the people behind them; he only saw the guns. Flipping onto his back and peering around the foot of the bed, he fired his entire clip. All he had was a second of confused hesitation while the men scrambled for cover, and he used it to stumble to his feet.

BA was on the floor.

Face spun around the corner into the bathroom and stayed low as the bullets punctured the drywall above him. His normally steady hands were shaking, reminding him that he wasn't at full strength. He ejected the empty clip and grabbed a new one from his pocket. It was all the ammunition he had. But there were at least four of the enemy, all heavily armed. No telling how badly injured BA was.

Murdock was just outside the door to the room. Face caught his eye and gestured quickly, and he nodded. No words were necessary. Murdock spun around the corner and fired off three rounds in quick succession. One of the men cried out, and in the brief confusion, Face spun the corner and fired three of his own. The men were only a few feet away, and he dropped another two. He didn't know if they were dead or alive. He didn't care.

He and Murdock moved into the room at the same instant, and Face focused on the man who was still standing. Murdock approached one of the bleeding men crumpled on the floor and wrenched away the weapon in his hands. He tucked his own pistol into his jeans as he readied the much larger, and much more loaded weapon. Then he stood still, serious, daring any one of the three to make a move. Face's pistol remained pointing squarely at the forehead of the one uninjured man… whose weapon was pointed directly at BA, still lying face down.

"Put the guns down," the man ordered.

"Forget it," Face answered darkly.

"Don't make me shoot him."

Face suddenly realized that BA hadn't moved since he'd stepped into the room. _Get up! Damn it, get up!_ Still, he didn't take his eyes or his gun off of the man. "You shoot him, I shoot you," Face reminded him. "You think you can dodge this bullet?"

"Only one way to find out."

Face's finger readied on the trigger. It suddenly crossed his mind that the man actually might walk into a gun. Maybe he just thought Face wouldn't – or couldn't – shoot him point blank. He was wrong. "Don't do it," he warned, one last time.

"Do what? This?"

Face's gun fired first, and he lunged immediately, tackling his bleeding opponent to the floor. The man's reflexes caused a pull on the trigger and several rounds went up into the ceiling before Face jerked the gun away. There was no struggle; Face's shot had been dead-on. Thank God, because the world was starting to spin around Face, threatening to fade out. Too much adrenaline, too little strength. He kept his focus through sheer force of will, and looked at BA.

All he saw was blood.

"My God..."

Face half-crawled, half-fell in the direction of BA without another thought for the enemy bleeding to death on the floor. The sheer amountof blood that greeted him as he turned BA over was enough to make him pull up short. It had poured out of BA's neck and pooled around his head. But it was no longer flowing. Face knew what that meant. Still, he checked BA's pulse, coating his hands in warm, sticky blood. But he felt nothing.

His eyes scanned quickly, taking in everything at once. Several wounds. At least one in his neck had hit an artery. Probably the first. The two in his skull had most likely ended his life. Several more in his chest hadn't even bled. His heart had already stopped pumping by the time they hit.

"What's the word, Face?" Murdock's back was to him, focused on the three men he was covering. He hadn't yet seen what Face was seeing.

Danger. The feeling came back without warning, before he saw or heard anything. There was no time for emotion. No time for comprehension, even. Face just reacted. In one smooth motion, he stood and grabbed Murdock's arm, pulling him as he started running toward the stairwell. "Let's go!"

As Face shoved him on ahead, Murdock stumbled to regain his balance, then took off at a full run. A few steps later, he suddenly skidded to a halt and turned. "Face, wait!"

Yelling. There was now a sound to go with the feeling of danger. They were at the doorway to the stairwell when the rattle of guns echoed down the hallway. Face ran into Murdock with enough force to knock him through the doorway and almost down the stairs. Oh God, the world was spinning. "Get _down_!"

In a heap of tangled limbs, they fell down a few steps, then scrambled to their feet again as the bullets cracked against the drywall and into the stairwell. Face grabbed Murdock by the arm as he started down the steps again, as much for his own balance as Murdock's motivation. "Come on!"

"But wait, what about - " Murdock dug his heels in.

"Murdock, we have to go. Now!"

"BA is back there!" he cried. "We can't just - "

"He's gone, Murdock!"

A dazed look suddenly blanketed Murdock's face, and he stood like a stone. "Let's go!" No reaction. Face shoved him hard down the steps, and he stumbled as he almost fell. "Now, Murdock!"

A moment of comprehension. "No, we have to go back," Murdock protested, starting back up the stairs and toward Face. His goal, clearly, was to go back, to see for himself, and to commit suicide in the process.

Face grabbed Murdock and slammed him back against the wall, so hard his head jarred back against it. "He is gone, Murdock!" he yelled. His voice echoed off the empty walls of the stairwell. "He's dead! Now _move_!"

This time, the shove was almost enough to send Murdock sprawling down the steps. Face nearly fell down after him. He was weak, and growing more and more dizzy by the second. He used the wall for balance as he stumbled forward. Down the stairwell and through the metal door into the hallway on the ground floor. Out through the glass doors on the side of the building.

The rental car stopped two feet in front of him, back door open, and Murdock dove into it headfirst. "Go! Go!" Face's feet hadn't even left the pavement when the tires squealed, and Murdock grabbed onto his arm to pull him the rest of the way in.

"Where's BA?" Hannibal called.

Dizzy. Confused. Face was gasping for breath and barely able to sit up as the door slammed closed behind him from the acceleration. Still, he managed the best answer he could. "He's dead!"

"He's _what_!" The near-panic in Hannibal's voice was unfamiliar. It sounded _wrong_. Face had never heard that tone come from him before. He hoped to never hear it again.

"I said he's - " The window of the rental car shattered and Face immediately and instinctively ducked and covered his head. "- dead! Just _go_!"

They were already moving. Out of the parking lot and into the street with the smell of burning rubber permeating the air.

"You're bleeding."

The look in Murdock's eyes as he held out a towel reminded Face of a robot. Wherever he was, it was far from here. He was merely reacting instinctively to the sight of the deep red coating Face's hands and arms. But Face realized as he took the towel that he felt no pain.

It wasn't his blood.

***

Face stepped out of the car the moment it stopped. Restless, anxious, and wound tighter than a spring, he slammed the door shut behind him and walked to the trunk, bracing himself on both arms as he breathed deep. The blood was still on his hands and arms, even though he'd made a significant effort to wipe it off. He could still see it, still _smell_ it as it dried, caking his skin with his friend's expired life. He hung his head between his shoulders, trying to force back the sickening feeling that came over him as the images replayed in his mind, over and over.

"What happened back there?" Hannibal was out of the car, too. Ashley was stepping shakily out of the passenger seat, using the car for support. Murdock hadn't moved.

"It was like an ambush," Face shot, surprised by the fury in his own voice. "An _ambush_. Like they were _waiting _for us! _Why _were they waiting for us!" That question was aimed directly at Ashley.

"I'm sorry," she choked. The tears were already flowing. "I'm so sorry... I tried to tell you..." She brushed her eyes roughly. Twenty miles had given her enough time to come out of the drugged haze. At least enough to be able to talk. "They found out that I called you... That I..." She covered her face with her hands. "My God, I am so sorry! I'm so sorry..."

"Maybe you want to try again," Hannibal snapped at her. "Start with how you knew where we were."

"I didn't," she stammered. "I just asked the operator to call the last number dialed. They'd just called to find out if you were there."

"If we were there?" Face cried. "How the hell did they know where we were?"

"I don't know!"

"Who _are _these people?" Hannibal demanded.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I told you what I know."

"You don't _know_?" Face couldn't hold back the fury that overwhelmed him. "You spent the last two months with them and all you have to offer right now are some tears and an apology?"

"I was blindfolded and handcuffedfor most of that time!" she yelled back. "Just the way you found me!"

There were no bruises on her wrists. Her face, yes, but not her wrists. She was lying again. Whywas she lying?

"What did they want with you?" Face demanded.

"They wanted me to decode the list!"

_Why_ was she lying?

"Hannibal," Face said, "I am done. I am _done _working for this woman. I am not spending _one _more day with her, and her lies, and her goddamn list!"

"No, please," she sobbed.

"Where is the list?" Hannibal demanded, ignoring him. "Did you decode it for them?"

"I…" she sobbed, hugging herself.

"Did you!"

"Yes!"

"Then why the hell are you still alive?" Face demanded. "Are we supposed to believe that they just enjoyed your company that much?"

"The only thing they ever said to me was that I was an insurance policy!" she yelled. "They didn't talk in English; I couldn't overhear anything! All I know is what they told me and they didn't say hardly anything!"

Face grit his teeth as he glared daggers at his CO. "They. _Ambushed_. Us," he growled. "They set us up, and they ambushedus. Why?"

"That's a good question." Hannibal directed his attention toward Ashley. He was doing a much better job than Face of keeping the appearance of a level head. "If they wanted you, for whateverreason, why take that kind of risk? If they knew you'd made the call, they had plenty of warning that we were coming. Why didn't they run?"

"You're asking me?" she sobbed. "I have been locked up in a dozen different hotel rooms, chained to furniture and... and traumatizedfor the past two months and you're asking me to think like they think?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Face snapped at her, glaring daggers. "Are we further _traumatizing _you?"

"Why are you doing this!" she screamed.

"Alright, _knock _it off!" Hannibal interrupted. He glared at his lieutenant, as if holding him personally and entirely responsible for this argument. "Face? Take a walk."

Face's jaw dropped. Everything inside of him wanted to lash out at Hannibal in that moment. Indignant and furious, he felt vicious anger surge in his chest. But he held it back, and spun away. This wasn't the time or place. He still didn't understand what was going on here, but instinct told him that somehow, in some capacity, she was responsible for BA's death. And if that was the case... he was ready and willing to rip her heart right out of her chest and feed it to her. Especially since whatever game she had played to make it happen... she was still playing it.

***

Face hadn't bought a pack of cigarettes since Vietnam. But there was nothing he wanted more right now. He was glad for the gas station, and the cool breeze, and the warm sun. He was glad that the only person around was inside the station, and not the least bit interested in him. He was glad that he was alone, that he had all the time in the world to think. To figure out what was going on in his head, if not the world around him.

_"Man, forget the list! They probably got twenty copies of it already!"_

He took a deep drag from the cigarette, resting his head against the brick wall behind him and closing his eyes. Why hadn't he thought of that? Why the _hell _had he stayed in that room? It was stupid; it made no sense at all in retrospect. They could've been out of there. They could've been right alongside Hannibal, out in the car. Why weren't they? Why had he stayed?

_"Man, Face, let's go!"_

The whole scene, over and over again in his head. All of the ways it _could _have turned out, but didn't. The blood, warm and sticky on his hands. It was still there. His shirt – which he'd had to take off before walking into the station - would be stained with it forever. And he would never get it out of his mind...

He had never been particularly close to BA. None of them had, really, except maybe for Murdock. At least, not on an emotional level. Murdock had tried and, to a point, succeeded in some kind of odd "big brother, little brother" bond. But BA had always kept pretty much to himself. Face had heard more about BA's childhood from his mother - in two days - than he'd ever heard from him in fifteen years of living and working together. He could honestly say that he knew almost nothing about his life before Vietnam. Of course, the others could probably say the same about him.

"Lieutenant?"

He shut his eyes. He hadn't even heard the car pull up. Maybe because right now, he genuinely didn't care. He glanced at the car and saw Murdock and Ashley both sitting quietly in the backseat. Murdock still looked dazed.

Hannibal said nothing more, just stood still, a few feet away. He didn't have to speak. It only took a few seconds of silence before the pent up anger and frustration released in his direction. "She is lying," Face growled at him, jaw clenched.

"I know she is," Hannibal answered, coming closer and sitting down next to him.

Pulling his emotional display under control, he glared at the ground. "What the hell are we doing here? Hannibal, they set that up perfectly. That's twice now they've ambushed us! And she can't give us a reason why! They were all waiting in that next room. They didn't just happen to walk in. You have got to see how these pieces aren't matching up."

"I see it," Hannibal assured him. "But she is the _only _one who can tell us what's going on here. Otherwise we just cut our losses and go home. I think I'd like to find out where this all started, if only to make sure it's _over_."

Face stared at him, jaw dropped. "What!" he finally cried. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"They want something."

"If I had to guess, I'd say they want us dead!" Face shot back. "And both times, either they used her as bait, or she's been the one _responsible_."

"I've considered that," Hannibal admitted. "But she's also the only link we have to them."

Face stared at him incredulously. "You're going to _trust_ her? In spite of all this?"

Hannibal stared back. "I don't trust her as far as I can throw her," he answered firmly. "That's why I want her _right _here."

"Right here," Face repeated, struck. "Are you nuts?"

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Whoever they are, they used her to get to us," Face reminded him. "To _kill _BA!"

"And we can use her to get to them."

The dark tone in Hannibal's voice was one Face had not heard in many years. It was the sound of a man seeking revenge. But it still sounded inadequate under the circumstances. "So, what? We keep her with us until she decides to give us a clue as to what the hell is going on here?"

"I think," Hannibal answered sharply, "she knows exactly what's going on here. And I think she's not telling us. Now, there could be a hundred reasons why that is. And if I have to eliminate them one by one to get to the heart of what's really going on here - to get to those people who killed one of my men - then you can bet your ass I'm going to play her game until we reach checkmate." The anger was seeping through the calm exterior that was John Hannibal Smith. It was hardly noticeable, a fine line between the determination he always spoke with, and that dangerous tone that warned he was ready to kill. If he hadn't been living and working with the man for so long, Face wouldn't have even heard it.

"You really think you can use her to get to them," Face realized, staring at him.

"I think she knows more about the men who shot BA than she's letting on. And as long as she's pretending that she doesn't, she's _fully _exploitable."

Face laughed, but it held no humor. "You're joking, right?"

"If she is involved, and if she thinks we're stupid enough to still be playing along, that's to our advantage."

Face stared at him for a long moment, then looked away again, finishing the last of his cigarette and putting it out in the dirt beside him. "Maybe you can't tell her how you feel about all this," he answered coldly, pushing himself up to his feet, "but I sure as hell can."

"No," Hannibal stated firmly. "You can't."

A few paces away, Face stopped and turned back. "What do you expect me to do?" he shot. "She's hiding information that either directly or indirectly resulted in BA's death!"

"You know what I expect you to do?" Hannibal asked, standing up and closing the gap between them. They met eye to eye, exchanging glares.

It was a rhetorical question; they both knew it. Face answered anyways. "Yeah, I know exactly what you expect me to do. You expect me to smile in her face and pretend like I trust her."

"You're a liar and a con-artist, Face," Hannibal growled back. "And I love you for it. And all I want you to do is what you do best."

Face's eyes narrowed into slits. "Give me a knife and a soundproof room and I'll find out anything you want to know."

"No, Face, you're better than that and we both know it. And besides," he took a step back, giving the younger man space, "it doesn't fit your sense of personal style."

Face's jaw clenched. "My personal style takes a backseat to practicality when I'm up to my elbows in my friend's blood."

"Whatever the real story is on these past two months, she's been with them. And she's playing scared and vulnerable. And you're just going to have to play along."

Face shook his head, realizing where this was going. "Oh, no, Hannibal," he protested with a slight, self-deprecating laugh. "Even I am not that good."

Hannibal glared hard at the man standing in front of him. "Look, I want to nail these guys to the wall just as badly as you do," Hannibal said. "You don't have to trust her. You don't have to like her. Just find out what she knows. And don't you dare stand there and tell me that you can't because we both know that you _will_!"

Face stared back, and swallowed the lump in his throat. It was an order, and he knew it. But perhaps more importantly... it was an order that was beginning to make sense. He looked away, down to the ground, arms crossed over his chest as he forced himself to consider his options. Every single one of them made his stomach turn. After a long pause, he looked back up. "And what if she's one of them?" he said, his voice flat and emotionless. "Hell, what if she's _behind_ all of this?"

"As soon as we know that for sure, we nail her, too," Hannibal answered, deadly calm. "Right to the goddamn wall."

Face studied him for a long moment, then turned and paced a few steps away, rubbing his face with his hands. He didn't like this. In fact, he could honestly say that he liked it less than anythinghe'd ever had to do in his entire life. But that didn't matter. What mattered was whether or not it would get results.

"Now, we've confronted her enough," Hannibal stated. "So we need to step back. She knows she's under the gun and she's going to be guarded. If I were you, I'd go apologize to her and see where it gets you, before you ruin any chances of making this work."

Face crossed his arms again over his chest, reigning in the thoughts and emotions that had taken over his sense of control. A few deep breaths, and he shut his eyes. He was going to need more than five minutes to pull his character back into submission. It had been years since he'd allowed himself to feel thismuch.

"Lieutenant?"

Face looked up, and saw that Hannibal had started in the other direction, back towards the car. But he'd paused, and looked back. Face didn't answer, and kept his face perfectly schooled into a look of emotionless, reaction-less submission. "There's a little town a mile south. We'll be at the motel. There's only one."

He could feel Hannibal searching him. What he was looking for wasn't anything he would see with his eyes. It wasn't anything that anyone else would be able to see at all. But he knew Hannibal could see it. Maybe because he felt it as well. Or maybe just because after so many years of working so closely together, that man could see into his soul. He didn't like it, but he knew it was true.

Face was still furious.

Hannibal remained still and silent for a moment, as if trying to decipher the true magnitude of what he was about to say. Then, finally, he spoke. Low and serious but at the same time... bordering compassionate. It would be too much of a stretch to call him sympathetic. But the emotion in his voice was far more than he would have normally let show. Or maybe he wasn't allowing it. Maybe it was just the fact that Face had been reading him for just as many years.

"Don't do anything stupid," he warned.

Face's expression did not change. There was a part of him that felt indignant. And another part of him that felt all of the rage inside of him rekindled at the thought of just how stupid he'd like to be at the moment. But beneath it all was an underlying emotion that he'd not allowed himself to become familiar with for many years: loss. Even now, it was buried deep beneath the others. But it was there. He felt it when he stared back into the eyes of the colonel, and saw it there, too.

He waited for a long moment. Then, finally, without reaction, he turned and walked away, hands hooked into the pockets of his jeans.


	12. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

**Author's Note: Quotes are from "Bad Day at Black Rock", "Lease with Option to Die", "Moving Targets", and "There's Always a Catch" – in that order.**

Sitting on the hood of the car, Face looked out over the darkness in front of him with unfocused eyes. A few flickering lights dotted the horizon, and a few select stars in the sky shone brighter than the others. But there was no moon, and if not for the lights in the parking lot, he probably couldn't have even seen his hand in front of his face.

He heard the noise behind him, but didn't turn. It wasn't a threat. He could tell by the shuffling footsteps exactly who it was, long before he came close and sat down, pulling his feet up onto the bumper. Out of the corner of his eye, Face watched him reached for the pack of cigarettes between them. Face didn't turn. He took one more deep drag, then handed it to his friend, letting Murdock use it to light his own. He handed it back without a word, and for a long moment, they sat still, silent.

There was nothing to say. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurred to him that Murdock hadn't spoken since the incident. His eyes slid closed at his mind's choice of words. "Incident." The death of one of the team was an "incident." It was more than that. It was a tragedy...

"Face?"

The sound of Murdock's voice seemed to emphasize the fact that this situation was more than an "incident." It was life-altering. Devastating. Face didn't answer, just opened his eyes again to stare out into the blackness. With one hand, he blindly grabbed the box and chained another cigarette. He didn't think an answer was really necessary. Murdock knew he was listening.

"You ever kill anyone?"

Stupid question. Why was he asking that? Face dragged deeply on his cigarette. "Special forces, Murdock," he reminded.

"No, I don't mean like that," Murdock corrected. "I mean like _really_ kill someone."

Finally, Face turned and raised a brow questioningly. Murdock was hunched over his knees, the glowing cigarette between his fingers. "As opposed to...?"

"I mean like _right _there," Murdock gestured. "Like... watch the life drain out of their ears and see them plead for their blood while you twist and snap so they can't take not one more breath in their head."

The half-coherence didn't obscure his meaning at all. Face watched him for a moment longer, then looked away again. He took another deep, slow drag, and closed his eyes as he felt it in his lungs. The nicotine was giving him a headache. Too much too fast after too many years of abstinence. He didn't answer the question, but his memory flashed briefly - unintentionally - to the visions that Murdock was probably seeing in his own mind's eye. It was one thing to take a life. It was quite another to watch it go.

Face wasn't going to talk about that. He wasn't even going to think about it.

Silence fell over them again. A deep and lonely silence interrupted only by the high-pitched rattle of some nighttime insect and the chirping of crickets. Murdock wasn't waiting for an answer to a question he already knew the answer to. He was just gathering his thoughts. They were thoughts that had too much emotion to be processed correctly. They jumbled in his brain like pieces to a puzzle that couldn't fit. The puzzle was almost done and there were just a few more brown pieces that wouldn't get into their places no matter how many times he turned them and mashed them. Time to turn the puzzle over. Time to give up. Break it all apart and wait for the right pieces to come together again. Black pieces and white pieces. They were all desperate to fit and they just couldn't match the pieces that were already there... Too much grey as they melted together... Build the puzzle up again. Re-cut the pieces, try again. Hundreds of thousands of colors... No black or white when it was all done. Just every color in between...

"Face?"

That voice was grating on his nerves. That voice coming out of his own mouth that sounded so lost and… vicious. It was an angry voice, and cold, and deadly. He wished he knew how to make that voice go away.

"Hmm?"

At least Face had answered him, even if it didn't sound like his voice. Really, it was a relief that someone else could hear this voice, too. He knew he wasn't the only one who didn't like the sound of it. He took a deep drag on his cigarette, and blew the smoke into the air, raising his eyes to look at the stars. Did they ever get lonely up there, so far away?

"Is it wrong that I want to kill these slimy bastards with my bare fucking hands?" That voice again. That was a killer's voice. And in this very moment, he _knew _he was capable of it. Damn that voice, and every emotion that went with it.

If Face was scared, or worried, or disapproving, he didn't show it. Murdock turned and studied him for a long moment. Dirty and disheveled... miles of walking in the dust. Maybe he'd gotten his head on straight. Maybe Murdock could try a long walk, too... Just one more grey piece in a black puzzle. Too many pieces. He was almost ready to blow the goddamn puzzle all to hell...

"No, Murdock," Face whispered, as he dropped his cigarette onto the asphalt parking lot. He leaned forward then, holding his head in his hands. He looked like a little kid when he did that. Like a little kid who was crying. Even if he was just a gray puzzle piece. "No, it's not wrong."

Murdock watched him for a long moment, then turned his head away again. Face's puzzle pieces were falling apart too. The hell with trying to make them fit anymore. Nothing fit anymore.

Damn it all to hell.

"I gotta see him."

Face closed his eyes. "You can't, Murdock."

"He'll be at the morgue, Face." Another slow, deep drag on the cigarette. Feel it fill his lungs with poison. "They'll keep him there a few days at least."

"Yeah, until Decker comes for the body," Face shot, dropping his hands and turning his head to glare at his friend. "And then they'll keep it for a few more days while he sits there and waits to see if we're stupid enough to show up."

Murdock's expression didn't change. "I gotta see him, Face."

He sighed, looking away. "Murdock, you're crazy."

Careless words.

The calm, almost-sane exterior evaporated instantly, as if Face had just pushed a magic button. Murdock hit the car hood so hard it shook, pushing himself up and standing, towering over his friend. The cigarette fell to the ground somewhere along the way. "I'm out of my mother fucking mind!" he yelled. Face looked up, a bit startled but too tired to offer any visible reaction. "You oughtta know that by now already and I don't gotta explain no more for it so I am not asking you for a clean bill of psychiatric health and a pat on the back, damn it!"

Face stared at him. The emotions were so close to the surface, Murdock was nearly transparent. With a detached sort of awareness, Face realized that the man standing in front of him was fully certifiable and going off the deep end. And he probably had a gun tucked into the back of his jeans. It would be wise to feel afraid. But Face didn't have the energy for fear.

"I am going," Murdock continued. His hands were shaking, balled into fists at his sides. "I am because I have got to go and that's what I'm going to do so God help me if..." As he searched for words, Face saw something inside of him breaking down. The anger dissipated into a look of hopelessness. He couldn't find the threat he was looking for, and simply ended, "God help me if you won't."

It wasn't the words, or the tone. It wasn't the anger that touched that place way down deep inside of Templeton Peck. That place where no one had been allowed in decades. That place that _felt _something - something real - when he looked at another human being. It wasn't the clenched fists or the way Murdock stood, shoulders back, staring him down. It was the way his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

Face found himself staring back into those eyes for a long moment, struggling to get a handle on this very new and unfamiliar emotion. In the face of danger, of death, he'd never flinched. Bullet wounds and broken bones, another explosion, another crash, another near-death experience. He accepted them. He could die at any moment; that was just the way his life was. It didn't scare him. But this - this sudden and unexpected connection to emotional pain - was enough to make his lungs tighten up in terror.

He had lived most of his life disconnected from the world around him. He functioned just fine within the world; one might even say that he functioned exceptionally well. But it was just that: a function. It went no deeper. If he was really honest, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt pain any deeper than a flesh wound, or anger any more passionate than an offhanded sarcastic remark. Maybe that was what made it so difficult, in this particular moment, to know how to deal with it.

He vaguely remembered love from a previous life when he'd caught a glimpse of it. And he understood friendship and loyalty and trust on an intellectual level - well enough to mimic the emotions of others. He understood those things on a practical level, as well. Without his team, alone against the world, he would probably die. There was an intellectual, thinking part of him that knew that. And perhaps it was not entirely without emotion. There was more than one reason why he was still with them; the court martial might have changed his retirement plans significantly, but it had been his decision to remain with his team even when it meant he couldn't live comfortably.

There would probably always be a part of him that would want to return to the normal, sane, common life of the general US population. But he couldn't dwell on that. He couldn't think too long or too hard about what it would be like to be "normal" again. He wasn't normal. He could do a beautiful impression of "normal", but it wasn't real. He'd lost any semblance of "normal" in a jungle in hell, and he had no earthly clue how to truly reconnect with a culture that had no comprehension of what he had seen and lived through.

He, and his team, had been through some especially mind-altering shit. Even other soldiers, back from the war and struggling for jobs and families that had been shattered, could not understand what it was like to be betrayed by the same country they had vowed to protect. To be tried for war crimes they didn't commit, and imprisoned for them when found guilty. They could not understand what it felt like to be hunted like a dog by the military police. They would never understand. It was amazing to him, on a number of levels, that Murdock understood. That he still, to this day, continued to run with them... even though his involvement in those "war crimes" hadn't led to his conviction. He didn't have to be here. But he was. Maybe it was just because he felt - by association, if nothing more - that same oppression that bonded all of them together like superglue.

Face would never expect anyone to understand why this group of four - this A-Team - had such an incredible bond. He didn't really understand it himself, if he was honest. They thought as one body. They acted as one. Because they were one. And they were the only "one" in the world who understood what it was like to be who they were. Nobody else could understand that. The detachment... the isolation... the knowledge that it would never really be okay again. There was no hope in this life. There was nothing worth looking to. In the future rested three possibilities: a military prison, death, or one more day of dodging bullets and searching for purpose.

This bond would last through any trouble they faced. But the idea that even this bond was temporary, that

death could finally and completely crush it, was something he had not considered in a very long time. Death was always at the door. He'd thought countless times about how he would die. He'd never thought – never really thought – of how he would deal with the grief written on Murdock's face as he had to accept the fact that BA was dead. He'd never thought of what it would be like to lose a member of the only family he had.

_Damn it, pull it together, Face._

He set his jaw, and turned his head away. Once he'd made up his mind, the cold detachment settled over him like a black sheet fluttering down from somewhere up above. It covered every emotion, any semblance of feeling. He put it out of his mind, and out of his heart, more effectively than a cold-blooded sociopath. Years of training - a lifetime of training - had taught him that it was best to keep people at arm's length. He'd failed in that with the members of his team. But he'd be damned if he'd allow that weakness to show. Not now, especially. There were too many other things to deal with.

What good would it do to allow that emotion a place? He had to think, to do and be what was required of him. And there was absolutely no place for emotion in that role. They were all bleeding right now. But if he allowed it to show, he wouldn't be able to work his way through this. He had to take over this role, hurt or not, bleeding or not, because it was his place to do so. Because the same man who saw the potential for exploitation of those weakened by pain felt a distinct responsibility to protect his team when they were weak. Murdock warranted that protection right now.

"They are going to be guarding the morgue," he tried, almost pleadingly.

"They'll be guarding the funeral, too."

Face sighed deeply, holding his head in his hands. Of course they would be guarding the funeral. And that wouldn't stop any one of them from attending. If nothing else, BA's mother needed to know that they had not abandoned him... or her.

"That's an acceptable risk that we're just going to have to take."

"I have to see him, Face!"

"Why!" The calm exterior was broken, just for a moment, by a flare of frustration. Murdock was not making this easy. "You'll see him at the funeral."

"No, I have to see him now!"

"No you don't!"

"Does that mean you aren't going to help me or you are?" Murdock demanded simply.

Face stared at him for a long moment. The fire in his eyes, the angry determination. He had set his mind on this and the only way Face would stop him would be to tie him to the chair. And even that would likely fail.

Face sighed deeply and looked to the motel behind them. Hannibal was inside, watching Ashley like a hawk. Maybe he could talk some sense into him. But a quick glance at Murdock's face warned him that it was very unlikely. Going to Hannibal for help would only mean that Murdock would disobey orders to stay put. And there was no doubt in his mind, at this particular moment, that Murdock would disobey those orders. He would either do it with someone watching his back or without.

"Fine," he mumbled. "But I swear to God, Murdock, if you get shot too just for being stupid..."

There was no answer. Murdock simply turned and walked around the car, opening the door and slipping into the passenger seat. Face watched him go, then sighed deeply before feeling his pockets for the keys and following.

*******

Face stopped a hundred yards from the morgue. If they got much closer, even in the dark, they were going to be seen. And there were four MP vehicles parked right out front, in plain view.

"You have ten minutes," Face warned. He'd already tried everything he could think of to talk sense into his friend. It hadn't made a damn bit of difference. The MPs were just the icing on the cake.

Murdock heard the warning. But he didn't answer. He stepped out of the car and closed the door quietly behind him, then jogged through the parking lot and to the side of the building as Face crept the car into view, and parked it. Murdock waited as Face stepped out, leaving it running with the door open, and walked right up to the front door of the building. "Oh. Hi guys."

The chaos that ensued was spectacular. Face turned and bolted, and a handful of men in uniform followed. Decker was not among them. He'd either not yet arrived, or was still inside. Murdock felt for the gun on his side, reassuring himself of its presence as Face sped off into the night. Screaming sirens and squealing tires followed him.

Murdock waited until the last car had pulled away in pursuit, then crept along the wall to the front door. He peeked in through the glass door and his eyes immediately came to rest on a middle-aged woman talking into the telephone, staring anxiously out the front door where the soldiers had just disappeared. There was no telling, from this distance, what she was saying. But if Decker was there, he'd be the one on that phone. Not her.

He pushed the door open a little to see what kind of sound it made. But it was well-oiled. The moment she looked down, he moved. Into the building and across the lobby, crouched right up against the counter. When she looked back up, she'd be looking right over the top of him. But she wouldn't know it. She wouldn't see him.

"No, I'm sure it was him. He walked right in..." His eyes scanned the lobby. It was after midnight. He didn't know a lot about morgues, but he didn't imagine they were fully staffed at this time of night. Especially one this small, on the outskirts of a city that wasn't all that big to begin with. This building was as unimpressive as they came. He doubted that they even had a full-time security officer. Of course, why would they need one? Who in their right mind would want to break into a morgue...?

He slid to the side, creeping along the counter under her gaze. "No, they left... Yes, all of them... Well, what should I do?"

It was the last thing he heard her say before he slipped past the swinging doors and into the short, wide hallway. The all-white, sterile look immediately reminded him of the hospital, and his mind drifted for a moment to consider his home. They had to know by now that he wasn't assisting the federal government with tracking down a wanted fugitive. Maybe they were even looking for him. He was going to have to come up with some fascinating story to explain his whereabouts to the doctors. Somehow, that thought seemed meaningless right now.

Hand on the weapon at his side, he half-jogged to the second set of swinging doors and peeked through them carefully before pushing them open. The lights were on in the large room on the other side. Bright white fluorescent lights attached to the drop ceiling. He scanned the counters, the metal tables, the equipment and the desk in the corner. There were offices to one side of the large room, and he checked them all to make sure they were empty.

Eight minutes.

There were index cards with names and identifying numbers on the outside of the little square coolers. He realized, as his fingers moved over them one at a time that his hand was trembling. There was a tight feeling in his chest that made it hard to take a deep breath. Instead, he breathed slow and shallow as his eyes finally came to rest on the name of his friend. _Not true. It can't be him. _But it was.

Murdock almost lost track of the minutes as he stood there, still, waiting with his hand on the ice-cold metal. He shut his eyes, hard, and took in as deep a breath as he could, then jerked the lock open and pulled the cart out of its place in the wall. He was glad for that breath as he opened his eyes. Because for a long moment, he couldn't breathe. The reality of seeing what he was seeing hit him square in the chest and almost knocked him right over. He gripped the edge of the shelf for balance as he swooned. _Not true... not true..._

_"BA... lie still."_

_"Man, I'm warnin' y'all for the last time! I don't want this sucker blood in me! It's gonna make me crazy just like he is!"_

_"No, it's not gonna make you crazy, BA, it's just gonna make you mellow. You could even room with me at the VA. I'll have 'em bring in an extra bunk and you and I can watch the walls melt."_

_"Hannibal!"_

_"Lay off, will you, Murdock..."_

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. It never happened this way in the movies, damn it! No one was ever dead until you saw the body. And at the morgue, where the body was supposed to be, there was never a body. The hero had somehow miraculously escaped and would return again in the sequel with a grand entrance that would make the audience cheer and applaud. It didn't happen like this. It didn't. It couldn't. Not when they'd come this far!

_"BA, Scoot... Uh... you know your mom was telling me about that time that you were kept after school because you pulled Wanda Taylor's pigtails?"_

_Laugh. Scowl. "Did my mom also tell you about the time I threw Tommy Wilson out the window for callin' me Scooter?"_

_"Yeah I think she did mention somethin' about that."_

_BA's mother… "Murdock, you are the craziest fellow I ever met. I think I want to adopt you."_

_"Then maybe I could be the long lost brother he never had!"_

_Another laugh. Another scowl. "Maybe you could be the ghost I never had if you don't shut up, fool!"_

Murdock was sinking. Down to his knees, eyes shut hard as the tears seeped past his lashes and trailed down the sides of his face. Hands still shaking, he touched the cold, clammy, lifeless arm of the man and held on tight as the sobs wracked his body. A burning, consuming pain way down deep in his chest made it impossible to breathe.

_"Mayday, mayday, this is 2-0-4-4-alpha. We've lost power, we're going in."_

_"Hannibal, I'm in a plane!"_

Never again... Never again...

_"Just what _exactly_ did you tell him in there, Hannibal?"_

_"Well, I simply told him that if he'd get the radio out of the plane, make it portable, and show a little decorum for the rest of the mission I'd... let him get even with us."_

_"You did what!"_

_"Well it was the only thing he seemed to warm up to."_

Never again...

_"Well, Pasadena, looks like you may have to trade in that beautiful felt fedora for a marble slab."_

_"What is this _you _business, Kimosabe? You know BA is my buddy, he's my friend, he's my pal - we been through everything together. Lone Ranger, Tonto... Batman and Robin."_

_"Pinocchio and the whale?"_

Never...

_"Stay close, Pasadena. You and me..."_

Minutes passed. Murdock opened his eyes and stared down at the sterile, white floor, watching it melt through the tears as if he were on acid or some equally powerful and devastating drug. Maybe he was. It was a drug that altered his consciousness, almost beyond repair. He couldn't move. He didn't want to. He didn't care who came through that door. He couldn't leave him behind...

Two minutes.

Without breath, without strength, he dragged himself up to his feet and stared for a long moment at the body, still clinging to BA's arm. Eyes closed, bullet-wounded... lifeless. Murdock's hand shook as he reached into the pocket of his brown leather jacket and retrieved the silver chain. Hanging from the end of it, three metal plates clinked against each other. Very slowly, as gently as possible, he pried the cold, stiff fingers apart just slightly, and slipped the dog tags into BA's palm, draping the chain around his wrist. He hung his head for a long moment, and his body shook as he sobbed a few more times. Then, finally, he placed his palm once more over BA's forehead, over the bullet holes.

Then, in one smooth movement, he turned and bolted.

His shoes squeaked on the floor as he flew through the swinging doors, down the hallway, out through the lobby and past the startled woman. Out the front doors. Sirens in the distance. He didn't wait. He didn't even look for the car that was supposed to pick him up. He just ran, off into the darkness, lungs screaming for air as tears streamed down his face.

Sneakers on the pavement. One, two, breathe... one, two, breathe... Panting and gasping. A full sprint, off into the night, down the side of the road without care for who or what he would encounter. No ability to imagine things like that. Couldn't comprehend. Brain was too full and sloppy and messy... Chirping crickets and cool night air. Sticky sweat on his forehead and the back of his neck. Muscles in full rebellion at running this fast, this suddenly, this long.

Pain. Agony. The adrenaline kicked in to combat it, and shot through him like a drug injected straight into his veins. Five more steps. Ten more steps. He was dizzy. Lost. His side hurt like hell. And he kept running. He ran until he had no more strength left, and then he ran further. He didn't know where he was running and he didn't care. Into the darkness. The blurry darkness saturated with tears and loss and loneliness.

Somewhere in another plane of reality, someone called his name. He didn't respond. Couldn't respond. There was no breath for that, and no point even if he wanted to. Voices in his head. _"I'm warnin' you! I've had enough of you talkin' to your invisible friend!"_ Voices, voices... _"I'm sick and tired of your dead lobster. And your dumb vibes."_ Dead, foreign voices, not his own. _"I gotta teach this sucka a lesson!"_

"Murdock, stop!"

The hand on his shoulder didn't stop him. It only made him run harder. It was fifty yards later that he was finally tackled to the ground. Sprawling in the gravel that cut into his palms and ripped his jeans, he turned and immediately, instinctively struck with a closed fist at the first thing he could find. Whatever it was he hit, it fought back. An attempt to pin him turned into a roll down the embankment at the side of the road, fists flailing. He made it back to his feet, fists still swinging, just as the other figure launched at him and grabbed his wrist. His back hit the rough bark of a tree with enough force to knock the wind out of him, and an arm across his throat prevented him from taking in a breath to replace it. "Murdock!"

Familiar voice. Not in his head. The instinct to fight dissipated into a haze of confusion and the strength in his body gave out as he collapsed, limp. Lack of oxygen and pure exhaustion. Falling. Black confusion. Face let him fall forward, to his knees, sobbing and trembling as he hugged his arms over his chest. "He's gone," he sobbed, shaking uncontrollably. "He's gone, Face, he's gone!"

Lost in his own private hell, he didn't hear the words that answered him. Disoriented and drugged with pain and adrenaline, he bowed himself all the way to the ground as he used the last of his strength to weep openly, letting every last bit of his mind slip away into the darkness. "He's gone!"

_He's gone…_


	13. Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Murdock's eyes opened slowly, and he found himself staring up at an immenseness of black sky, dotted with tiny white stars. He was on the prickly grass, on his back. Someone was nearby. But as he turned his head to the side, he saw no one. Then the other side. Equally empty. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his head. Every muscle in his body ached and his head was pounding. Had he been sleeping? Where was he?

There was a car behind the bushes, nearby. As he stared at it, the memories gradually seeped back into his consciousness. "Face?"

"Up here."

He tipped his head up to the tree nearby, where Face was perched up in the limbs, back against the trunk and one leg hanging down. The other was bent in front of him and a tiny orange glow told Murdock where the cigarette was in his hand. "What are you doin' up there?" Murdock slurred, rubbing his forehead as he lowered his eyes again. He never would've expected to see Face in a tree by his own free will. Climbing was too much like work.

"Watching the road," Face answered simply. "The MPs are still looking for us. They've driven by twice."

"Where are we?"

"West. A few miles." Face looked down and just briefly, their eyes met. "You're lucky I saw you bolt out of there or I wouldn't have even known which way you headed."

Murdock looked away. He had nothing to say to that.

"Was anybody in there?" Face asked.

"In where?"

"In the morgue."

"You mean besides BA?"

His voice was as cold and hard as ice. Face stared at him for a moment before responding. "You know what I mean."

"Just a woman," Murdock mumbled back, almost under his breath.

"Did she see you?"

Why did this feel like an interrogation? "Dammit, Face, lay off, will you?"

He looked up to glare at the figure in the tree for a moment. Face stared back, his expression unreadable. Murdock's eyes were slowly adjusting to the dim moonlight, and he watched as Face brought the cigarette back to his mouth and took a long drag. The orange embers on the end of it glowed brighter. As he lowered it again, he looked away from Murdock, away from the car, away from the road, and out into the empty space beyond it.

Murdock swallowed hard, and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. The grief, held back by cracking floodgates, was enough to make him shudder. He wanted to go home. He wanted to crawl into a corner with a blanket and pillow and sleep until he woke up to find out this was all a dream. But every time he opened his eyes, reality was right there waiting for him.

"He's dead, Face," he mumbled. He wasn't sure if it was even loud enough for him to hear. But if he was honest, he wasn't really saying it to be heard. He was saying it in the hopes that if he heard it enough times, if he believed it... maybe it wouldn't hurt so much when everything inside of him tried to tell him it wasn't true. "He's really gone..."

"I know," Face answered quietly. "I was there."

Murdock shuddered, feeling the tears come again, unbidden. His eyes hurt already, and he felt like someone was driving a stake through his skull just behind them. But he couldn't control the tears. It was all he could do to keep himself from totally and completely breaking down again. "You think he knew?" he managed. "Like... he felt it?"

Face didn't answer for a long moment, and Murdock looked up, brushing his eyes roughly. He needed to pull it together. If for no other reason then because these ruts of grief and anguish forming in his mind had the potential to become more powerful than his ability to control them. And if he lost his delicate grip on his mind... it was all over in his world.

"I don't know," Face finally admitted.

Murdock breathed slow, deep, and stared out over the empty field, focusing on the smell of the early fall night, the moisture in the air from an impending rain, the cool breeze that dried the hot tears on his cheeks into cracked saline trails. Finally, he looked up again, at the man perched in the tree with his head back against the trunk. He looked so relaxed. But it was an act. It had to be an act.

"So what do we do now?"

Only a brief pause this time. "That's up to Hannibal."

"What do you think?"

Face glanced down, and their eyes met just briefly before Murdock looked away. He couldn't maintain eye contact for long without feeling that pain again. "I think he'll want to go to the funeral."

Something about the way he said it struck a deep chord in Murdock's painfully exposed emotions. His tone was cold, almost uncaring. "And you don't want to go?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Face sighed. "Wanting to do something and thinking it's a good idea are two totally different things."

"We've done it before," Murdock reminded him.

"Not with Decker, we haven't."

"So you wouldn't go?" Murdock challenged. The first flicker of real anger was like a bright flash of red on a white background, painfully visible if brief. "If it was up to you, you wouldn't go to BA's funeral?"

In the long pause that followed, Face turned and looked down at him. He didn't have to say a word, and he didn't. That unfeeling, untouchable look said it all. Murdock's eyes narrowed into slits as every muscle in his body tensed. How could Face wear a look like that? How did he dare? "Man, what is wrong with you?" he demanded angrily. "Don't you ever feel anything for real?"

"Not if I can help it." The bitter response was still painfully honest, and Face quickly tried to cover it up. "What do you want from me, Murdock? You want me to cry? No amount of tears will bring him back."

"It ain't about bringing him back, Face. It's about dealin' with how it hurts _way _down deep inside of you in all those places you don't even wanna go."

Face looked down and held his gaze. It was a look that could freeze fire, and Murdock felt something inside of him grow cold. "'Cept it doesn't hurt there for you, does it?" he realized. "Nothin' hurts there for you."

Again, Face sighed. Murdock heard that scamming tone before he even heard the words. "Now, that's not - "

"Don't!" he shot, glaring up at the man in the tree.

Face didn't.

Murdock's clenched fists were shaking, he was gripping them so hard. That tone, more than anything, made his anger flare. That conning, almost-condescending tone that Face used to get what he wanted. Right now, he wanted to appear sympathetic. Murdock wasn't buying it. And it pissed him off that Face would try to turn that weapon on him.

"I don't get you, Face," he finally said, coldly. "And there's times like this where I don't even _like _you."

He heard Face jump down from the tree, landing in the grass a few feet away with practiced grace. He came a little closer - but not too close - and sat down. A nearly-empty pack of cigarettes hit Murdock in the leg. "Get rid of those for me, will you?"

Murdock's eyes closed and he hung his head, holding it in his hands as he heard Face's lighter flick once more. Without conscious thought, he reached for the box and withdrew one of the last cigarettes. He caught the lighter without raising his head as Face tossed it to him.

"Look, it's not that simple, Murdock."

"Save it, Face," he answered flatly, dropping the lighter on the grass as he took a deep drag of smoke. "We both know I ain't said anything you didn't already know."

Another long pause. "It's stillnot that simple."

At least he hadn't bothered to try and deny it again.

With great hesitation, Murdock looked up. He met Face's eyes and locked there, not letting him look away. But he didn't try to. "You got mad, Face. And I gotta believe that you got mad for real. But just as soon as all that adrenaline reaction goes away... there ain't anything real in there, is there?"

Murdock wanted - _needed _- to understand how anyone could be so cold. Because the look in his friend's eyes showed no grief or pain. In fifteen years, Murdock had seen Face masquerade as more people than a Hollywood actor. But why do it now? Why here, when there was no audience here worth performing for? Unless he wasn't acting. That thought was almost frightening, given the cold emptiness - nothing even remotely like what Murdock was feeling. Face wore the look of a detached man, hardened by years of torture and betrayal.

But that wasn't Face's life, damn it! He'd never once been betrayed by any of them, and they had been his life for fifteen years now. How could he wear that stone cold look? How could he pretend not to care that they had just lost their brother? How could he be so goddamn unfeeling? Murdock felt the anger welling up inside of him all over again.

"You're so cold you don't feel a thing except what you have to make yourself feel," Murdock accused. He could hear the bitterness in his tone, but he didn't curb it.

"Murdock, stop."

"And you just don't care enough to make yourself feel bad that he's gone, do you?"

"Murdock…"

"You just don't give a damn. And you wouldn't give a damn if it was me in that morgue, either."

"Damn it, _stop_!"

Murdock stared at him as he turned and made eye contact, glaring hard. But those eyes displayed emotion now: anger. One look at them told Murdock that he'd gone too far. Immediately, he felt guilty. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He looked away, taking one more drag off the cigarette before he put it out, and hid his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, I just…"

"Forget it." As quickly as it had come, the emotion was gone again.

Murdock was looking through tears when he raised his eyes again. "I just need to know, Face," he pleaded. "For real need to know. 'Cause I know you're gon' deny it, but I'm sittin' here... bleedin' all over the place and I need to know."

"Know what?"

"How do you do it?" Murdock _needed _to have an answer to that. "How do you make yourself so cold like that?" He needed to know that Face at least _knew _he did it. That maybe he could control it, or at least learn to control it. He didn't want to believe that his best friend was actually, truthfully, so damn cold inside.

Face looked away. "It's not an art form, Murdock."

"No, I know it's not," Murdock answered firmly. "I spent half my life watchin' people who are messed up in the head and talkin' to doctors about what makes 'em that way and how they think. I can even name what you got. But I can't understand it."

Face stared, probably dumbfounded at the idea that Murdock would try to diagnose him with something. "What?"

"Nothing gets through to you. Nothing touches you. I can't touch you. BA dying can't even touch you."

"That's not true."

"It is true, Face!" Murdock cried. He brushed the tears off his cheeks roughly and then used his hand to gesture at Face. "Look at you."

"You're wrong, Murdock."

"If I'm so wrong, prove it," Murdock challenged. "Show me something real. Anything. I don't care."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't care whatyou do, Face." If Face was going to play hardball, they could both play. "Just show me something, say something – anything – that's not processed through all those layers of what you think you're supposed to be feeling. I don't care if it's anger – I don't even care if you aim it at me! But damn it, just give me something to let me know you're still human under all the –"

"God damn it, Murdock, what do you want from me!" The elevated tone caught Murdock slightly off guard. It echoed in the still, empty night. "You want me to say I don't care? Fine! I don't! I don't care that he's dead, and I wouldn't care if it was you, and that's why I stuck my neck out to take you to the goddamn morgue to begin with!" Face turned away as he paused for a breath. "Jesus Christ, Murdock. What the hell are you trying to prove?"

Murdock sat still, watching him quietly. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was real for all the wrong reasons. What was he really angry about? Was it the fact that he was being accused of not caring or the fact that he wasn't able to hide it well enough under layers of superficial sorrow? That thought was terrifying…

"I wanna know, Face," he whispered. "I wanna know that you're real under there."

"Well, I'm not," Face growled back. "So back the hell off."

Murdock didn't know what to think, what to feel. There was a wall between the two of them, as real as if it were plainly visible. Even sitting two feet away from a man he'd thought he knew, he felt very alone.

***

The flight from Oklahoma to Illinois was absolutely silent. So was the car ride from the airport. Face knew why they were in Chicago. None of them had felt the need to discuss it; they all simply knew it was their next stop. All except Ashley, who had kept her mouth wisely shut through most of the past two days. Face had hardly said a word to her. He had yet to find any place inside of him from which he could draw sympathy for her, and he was going to need some measure of sympathy if he was going to get anything out of her.

It was ironic, when he thought about it. He'd been trying to get information out of her almost from the moment he'd met her. It should be easy now; he'd laid all the groundwork. But the reality of the situation kept repeating itself in his head.

_"She's playing scared and vulnerable. You're just going to have to play along."_

_  
"Oh, no, Hannibal. Even I am not that good."_

He checked into the cheap motel, just west of the city, with a customary smile that was completely forced and fake. Murdock and Hannibal met him in the parking lot, and Ashley followed a few steps behind as they walked up to the two adjoining rooms on the third floor.

There was no reason whatsoever to think that the room was bugged. Face swept it anyway, out of habit. As long as they had Ashley in their custody, he was going to be ready for anything.

A few hours of rest would've been nice, though Face knew it wasn't on the agenda. None of them had slept the night before. He and Murdock had spent most of the night in the field. Hannibal had spent most of the night wondering where the hell they were. Ashley had probably slept. By the time they returned to the motel, Face had fully expected that he was in for the ass-chewing of his life. But either Hannibal was too tired to be angry or he simply didn't care. Face suspected the former. After only a few choice words, he'd let the matter drop and hadn't brought it up since.

"We need to go talk to his mother." Hannibal closed the door to the room just as Ashley sat down on the edge of the bed. It seemed like a rhetorical statement. They all knew why they were there. "I don't know if they've informed her yet, but even if they have, she deserves to hear it from us."

"His… mother?" Ashley managed.

"I think she has a right to know what happened," Hannibal replied, eyes narrowed at the young woman who was shifting uncomfortably. "Don't you?"

"What... do I say to her?" she managed. She sounded like she was on the brink of tears. "I mean..." She covered her face, confirming just how near to crying she had been. "This is all my fault."

Face held back his urge to agree with her. Her very first words since they had argued in the car screamed vulnerability. He couldn't have set it up better. And he couldn't have hated it more.

"You're coming with us," Hannibal informed her. "Until we know what's going on here, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"I'll stay with her."

Both of Face's teammates turned and stared at him. Murdock's jaw almost hit the floor. "What?"

Face shrugged as he looked away from him, focusing his attention on Ashley, who was staring at him hopefully. "She's been through a lot," he offered quietly. He glanced back at Hannibal. "It might not be good for anyone if she goes."

"Man, what the _hell _is wrong with you?" Murdock demanded.

Face looked away. Murdock wouldn't understand this, and he didn't want to explain it. The "good cop, bad cop" routine had been well enough established that offering her a way out of the confrontation was simply his role to play. Besides, he wasn't really sure he even wanted to face BA's mother.

"She shouldn't go." He hazarded a brief glance at Murdock. There was too much pain in Murdock's eyes for him to hold it for very long without breaking character. "And somebody's gotta stay with her. They kidnapped her once already. There's no guarantee they won't try to do it again."

Again, Murdock gaped at him.

Face sighed. "Come on," he pleaded. "I just... don't want any more trouble, okay?"

"I would rather she came along," Hannibal said, eyes narrowed slightly at Face as if trying to determine why he was offering this.

"There's going to be plenty of time for her to... reflect at the funeral," Face said.

The look that was exchanged between them probably confused the other two in the room. But they both understood. In the span of only a few seconds, an entire conversation was repeated.

_  
I'm a liar and a con-artist, Hannibal. Let me do what I do best…_

After only a brief silence, Hannibal backed down. "Alright, Murdock. Let's go."

Clearly, it was not the outcome Murdock had been expecting. "But - "

"Now." Hannibal's voice didn't rise at all. It didn't have to. His tone said enough.

Murdock stared at him for a long moment, then back at Face. Finally, he turned and walked to the door. Hannibal glanced back once more. "We'll be back in a few hours."

Face nodded. "Give her my sympathies," he said quietly.

Without an acknowledgment, Hannibal slipped outside. Warnings weren't necessary. Splitting up put them both in compromised locations. But at least they were different positions; if one of them ran into trouble the other would be there to rescue them. As much as he hated to think about it, that was a very real possibility. BA's mother would be under surveillance by now. Decker wasn't a fool; he knew they'd be coming. And whatever game Ashley was caught up in, Face was putting himself right in the middle of it.

Without a word, Face watched through the vertical blinds as Hannibal and Murdock pulled away in the dark blue car. He only let them fall back into place, covering the window, when he heard Ashley's voice.

"They're leaving us without a car," she pointed out. "Which means they don't share your concern for... anyone coming to find me. We'd be trapped here if they did."

"I'll get a car if we need it," he answered. "They know that." He turned and glanced at her. "Don't worry about it."

She smiled tightly. "It's kind of hard not to worry right now."

He stepped away from the window, walking to the little table and sitting down with his head in his hands. "Why _did _you stay?" she finally asked. "Because I don't buy that it was for my safety."

"Why is that so hard to believe?" he mumbled. He ran his fingers through his hair before letting his hands drop to the table. Then he glanced at her. "I did just spend two months looking all over the country for you, you know."

She lowered her head, but didn't make any attempt at an explanation. He was dying to ask her, point blank, what her real name was and why she'd lied about it. Why she was still lying. And maybe even what they were supposed to do with her now that the list – and their assignment – was a moot point. But whatever he asked her, she would simply answer with lies. He had to ask the right question at the right time in the right way. He had to make her want to volunteer the information, not try to pry it out of her. That would get him nowhere; they'd already established that.

"Anyways, I really don't want to talk to her," Face continued quietly. "If I'd just… gotten out of there when I should have…"

"It wasn't your fault."

Face still wasn't entirely sure about that. But he kept his real emotions tightly guarded as he displayed for her what she needed to see. "I wish I could be sure of that."

"Well..." She shifted uncomfortably. "Whatever your reason for staying here with me..." He glanced toward her and saw her force a tight smile in his direction. She took a deep breath, and let it out slow. "I _am _grateful."

Her eyes lowered to the floor and she stared at it as if studying every intricate detail of the carpet. "I don't know if I could bear to..." She bit her lip again, and closed her eyes, as if willing herself not to cry.

Face watched her for a minute and sighed. The perfect opportunity. He could actually _feel _it, like a physical sensation - a stimulant of some kind in his blood. A vulnerable woman triggered all sorts of instincts, both born and bred. If his brain knew that she was only faking it... the rest of him certainly didn't. The smooth and sophisticated predator in him was alert and ready, and he didn't hold it back. In fact, he encouraged it. He needed those instincts to get him through this.

He moved from the table to the bed, next to her, putting an arm around her shoulder. As soon as she had him to lean on, she turned and buried her face in his chest, sobbing. "I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I never meant for this to happen! I'm so sorry!"

He shut his eyes, and leaned his head against hers, hugging her tighter. "It's okay," he whispered. "It'll be okay."

"No, it won't!" She pulled away and looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "There's nothing that'll ever bring him back! And it's all my fault! You know it's true! You know it!"

"Hey." He reached up one hand and held her chin, keeping her from looking away. But she closed her eyes. "Look at me."

She swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat, and reluctantly raised her eyes to his again. "I was angry," he said quietly. "And confused. And I… made some accusations. And I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "No, you're not."

He brushed away her tears and tucked a few loose strands of hair back behind her ear. "Ashley, it wasn't your fault. We all know the risks of what we do. We get shot at all the time. And we've all taken a few bullets. You weren't the one who pulled that trigger."

"But you wouldn't have even been there..." She shut her eyes again, hard. "You should've just left me, Face. You never should've come back for me. I never should've called you. He would still be alive."

"And you would still be handcuffed to that bed."

Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet his again, blinking away the tears that hung on her lashes. "I'm so scared," she whispered. "And I feel like... like I don't even have a right to be scared. What I've put you all through..."

His hand had lowered to the side of her neck, thumb resting against her jaw. He brushed back and forth lightly over her soft skin, watching the fear in her eyes, letting it speak to the protective instincts in him. "It's alright to be scared," he whispered. Then, just barely audible, he continued in a soft breath, "I'm scared, too."

She stared back at him. The look in her eyes spoke volumes. She could only fake so much of that vulnerability before it was real, and he really was holding her in the palm of his hand. Slowly, watching her carefully, he brushed her lips with his in a hesitant kiss, testing to see how she would respond. Her response was exactly what he'd hoped it would be – not too sure, the way she would be if she thought she was playing him and not the other way around, but not too hesitant, the way she would be if she'd regarded him as a potential threat. Reassured of his method, he kissed her again, deeper. Again, she returned it as her hands moved up his arms and over his shoulders, fingers finally burying in his hair.

Secrets were shared in the most intimate moments. Her intention to respond was clear enough, and Face debated his next move. He could talk to her now… or he could push her further. He was almost surprised to find that he felt no emotional response to either option. Anything he felt toward this woman had already been placed on the shelf. Nameless and faceless, she was just another female, melting into his arms as he gently pushed her back toward the bed. He felt nothing for her, and he would feel nothing with her. But if he continued to play his cards right, she would feel everything he wanted her to feel… and tell him anything he wanted to know.

***

"No cars," Murdock mumbled under his breath. "Hey, you think that one of these days they're gon' figure out that those cars that say 'Military Police' on the side of 'em are a dead giveaway?"

If Hannibal even heard him, he didn't answer. He sat just as still and silent as he'd been throughout the entire ride as Murdock pulled the car into the alley, and parallel parked it between the others. They had a block to walk before they reached the apartment building. Murdock dug his hands deep into his pockets as soon as he'd closed the car door. "I don't like that Face ain't here with us," he said. "Seems wrong."

"If he thinks he can use this time to get any information out of that woman, then that's his call."

"Yeah, but... I mean... it's BA's mother. This is _important_."

Hannibal sighed deeply, eyes scanning as he started down the sidewalk. He couldn't argue. Face had picked a fine time to start this game. But it really was his call. And Hannibal wouldn't have forced him to come here even if Ashley hadn't been a factor.

Murdock's eyes were planted firmly on the ground in front of his feet. "What're we supposed to say?" he mumbled. "I mean... if she doesn't know."

"Just let me handle it, Murdock," Hannibal assured him. "You don't have to say anything."

A few steps in silence, and Murdock shifted uncomfortably as he looked around. "Hey, Hannibal, what if she asks who done it? I mean... we still don't even know."

"Then that's what we'll tell her." Hannibal reached for the front door of the building and pulled it open wide, waiting for Murdock to go first. "We can only give her what we know."

"If Decker already told her – "

"If Decker told her anything then she's probably a mess," Hannibal interrupted. "Compassion isn't exactly his strong point."

"So what do we say?" Murdock asked, uneasy as he headed up the stairs.

"I told you, you say nothing. I'll take care of it." He stopped at the door and grabbed Murdock's shoulder, turning him so their eyes met. "I'll do this, Captain. Just let me talk to her."

Murdock forced a smile and nodded. Then Hannibal turned and knocked on the door. It was a moment later that a heavyset black woman answered. Before he could say a word, Hannibal saw her tear stained cheeks and the tissue she was gripping tightly in her hand. She looked like she'd just stood in the middle of a wind storm and let it beat on her until she couldn't stand up on her own two feet anymore.

Hannibal opened his mouth, but to his surprise, Murdock spoke first. "Mrs. Baracus, we are so... so sorry..."

His voice was so filled with compassion and care, there was nothing Hannibal could have said that would've sounded even marginally better. He didn't try. He just stood still and silent as the woman stepped forward and threw her arms around his shoulders, leaning on him as she sobbed into his neck.

***

"Templeton?"

There was something that didn't feel right about hearing his real name on her lips. But a lot about this didn't feel right. It seemed petty to bring out something so minor for consideration. "Hmm?"

"There's... something I have to tell you."

There were a lot of things she had to tell him. He'd take what she was offering before he addressed his own questions.

He opened his eyes slowly, pulling closer to her beneath the warm, comfortable blankets. With the hand that was stretched across her waist, he stroked gently up and down her side. "What?" he asked quietly.

He wasn't really expecting her to pull away. He let her go, pushing himself up a little as she leaned over the side of the bed and fumbled through the pocket of her jeans. A moment later, she settled again, onto her back in his arms with something that looked sort of like a thermometer in her hand. "This."

He kissed her shoulder again, and rested his chin there, eyes sliding closed. "What's that?" Whatever it was, it didn't look like it had anything to do with the questions he wanted answered.

She hesitated just a moment. "That little line right there?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"It means I'm pregnant."

His eyes snapped open.


	14. Chapter Twelve

"Where's Ashley?"

Hannibal wasted no words as he walked up the steps to the second floor motel room. Face was standing against the balcony, braced over it with a cigarette between his fingers. It was his fourth in fifteen minutes. "Inside," he answered, not looking up.

"Everything okay?"

He held back a borderline-hysterical laugh. "Just great."

"We brought takeout if you're hungry."

The _thought _of food made his stomach flip-flop. "No. Thanks."

As Hannibal disappeared into the room, Murdock finished trudging up the stairs. "Thought you were done smokin' them things."

Face didn't answer. He just took another long, slow, full drag. He held it for a long moment before breathing it out again. A few feet to his right, Murdock leaned on the railing. After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke. "They won't release the body yet," he started quietly.

"Why not?"

Murdock shrugged, eyes down. "I don't know. Hopefully we can have it by next weekend. We told her we'd pay for the funeral. 'Cause she don't have the money."

"Ashley's pregnant."

Murdock blinked. "Ashley's what?"

Face took another hit off the cigarette, and turned to look at his friend. "She's pregnant," he said seriously.

For a long moment, Murdock stared at him, jaw slack. Then he gave a nervous laugh, and clapped his hand over Face's shoulder. "Woah, Face, that was a good one," he chuckled. "You almost had me goin' there for a minute 'cause I really thought you just said that – "

"I did," Face cut him off, no hint of humor in his voice. "And she is."

The hand on his shoulder turned into a shove. "Are you kidding!" Murdock cried. He shook his head, eyes wide in horror. "Is it yours? Tell me it ain't yours, Face."

"I don't know," Face admitted. "She thinks it is."

If Murdock's eyes could get any wider, they did. "Is there something wrong with your brain that you suddenly stopped doin' what you need to do to make sure that doesn't happen?"

Face's eyes narrowed. "I do!" he shot back. "I mean..." He sighed deeply as he turned toward the rail again. "I normally do."

Murdock's eyes were wide, jaw dropped. "What the hell made her so special?"

"It wasn't planned," Face sighed. That explanation did nothing to take the look of shock and horror off of his friend's face. He groaned as he turned and gestured in the air. "Come on, Murdock, it was... in the shower and it just... you know..."

Still, that look of horror remained in place. Face waved him off as he turned back to the rail, leaning forward on it as he brought the cigarette up to his lips again. "Forget it," he mumbled. "Just... forget I said anything."

"That's... easier said than done seein' as what I'm supposed to be forgetting."

"Well, what am I supposed to do, huh?"

"Ain't it a little late to be askin' that?"

Face glared at him. "Lay off," he warned.

Murdock put up his hands and took a step back, noting the threatening tone. He watched as Face turned away again, and took another long drag. After a long moment of consideration, Murdock rubbed the back of his neck, shifting nervously. "Um... How you gonna tell Hannibal?"

Face sighed deeply. "Probably the same way I told you."

Murdock laughed loudly. "Somethin' tells me that ain't the best idea you ever had, kimosabe..." The tension was palpable. "Not if it could actually be your fault."

Face shot him a brief, sarcastic look, and finished the last of his cigarette before tossing it out into the parking lot. "You got a better idea?"

"Well, I think I'd at least - "

"Can I ask a stupid question?" The conversation stopped immediately at the interruption of Hannibal's voice. Both men turned suddenly, both wondering just how long he'd been standing there.

"Yeah?" Face managed as Murdock looked away, shifting uncomfortably.

Hannibal took a breath and held it briefly, before he spoke. "Where _exactly _is Ashley?"

Face blinked in surprise. "She's not in there?"

Hannibal shook his head. Without stopping to think, Face pushed past him into the room, checking the bathroom, where he'd just left her. But it was empty. "She was just here. I just saw her right before you showed up!"

"Maybe she went to get ice or somethin'," Murdock offered with a slight shrug.

Face stared at him, dumbfounded by the thought. Had he been so deep in thought that she would've been able to move past him?

Thank God, Hannibal didn't ask. "We need to find her," he ordered.

Both men were already moving, Murdock to the left towards the ice and vending machines on that side and Face down the steps and toward the office. Hannibal headed to the machines on the other end of the building. Face reached quickly just to make sure that his weapon was still strapped firmly to his side. But surely he wouldn't need it. Surely she'd just wandered off, _stupidly_, and would be easily found. Surely she hadn't gone far, and no one could've come for her so quickly. Surely this would be over in a few minutes. His body didn't even bother to kick in the adrenaline. There was nothing to be concerned about. This was nothing but a minor inconvenience.

It was nothing until he heard the gunshots, and spun so fast on his heel that he barely had a chance to regain his balance before he was running. A woman's scream, a few more shots, and he saw Hannibal bolt from the corridor between buildings. Face's eyes shot to the direction he was heading. And very suddenly, the adrenaline - the _panic_ - kicked in. In front of him, no more than twenty yards away, he saw Murdock fall three stories... and land in the windshield of a pickup truck.

"No!"

He'd never run so fast in his life - three seconds to close a gap that should've taken at least ten. There was blood pouring from Murdock's chest, and from the back of his head. Acting on instinct rather than what he knew about moving an injured person, Face grabbed his arm and pulled him up and out of the glass, setting him down on the pavement between the cars. "Murdock? Murdock!" He barely recognized the frantic tone in his own voice. "Look at me!"

Murdock's eyes were open, wide and panicked, but he was staring off into the mid-afternoon sky. Face ripped his shirt apart, looking for the wounds among the blood. "Look at me!" he ordered. Two holes from two bullets. But they were too high to have gone into his heart. His eyes flashed back and forth between his friend's face and chest, wrestling his own shirt off over his head and using it to press down on the wound that was bleeding the most. "Murdock, _look_!"

Murdock's eyes shifted, slowly, still wide with pain and shock. But he met Face's stare. His breathing was staggered, gasping. "Somebody call an ambulance!" Face yelled at any and all of the hotel rooms behind him. Where the hell was Hannibal? "Somebody call...!" He cut off as Murdock's eyelids fluttered closed. "No!" he cried, holding the shirt to Murdock's chest with one hand and using the other to slide under his head. There was more blood there, hot and sticky against his fingers. "Nononono... Murdock stay with me!"

Gunshots and squealing tires. To Face, they sounded like they were in a dream, somewhere very far away. On a television set, maybe, in one of the rooms. "Open your eyes, damn it!" he screamed at the broken, bloody figure lying on the pavement in front of him. He wanted to shake him. But he knew it would only make his injuries worse. "Murdock!"

His eyes fluttered open once more, and Face felt his hand move. Jerky, hesitant movement that warned of broken bones and excruciating pain. Face set his head down carefully, and took his hand, squeezing it tight. "Just stay with me," he pleaded. "Just stay with me, Murdock, just look at me. You'll be okay."

He shook, just slightly, damaged muscles trembling with the shockwaves of the pain. Face held his eyes as he worked his jaw a few times, trying to make words. "No no no, don't talk," he pleaded. "Just stay still. Just look at me. You're going to be okay."

"I...mmmm..."

"Murdock, look at me."

His eyes were sliding closed again. "Mmsorry..."

"No!"

But this time, no amount of yelling or pleading was going to open his eyes again.

***

"His name is Murdock," Face said weakly, not watching the men in the back of the ambulance as they prodded and poked at his friend. The screaming machinery made Face's own heart stop as Murdock flat-lined for a second time, and he closed his eyes as the charge lifted him up from the stretcher.

"Murdock? Can you hear me?"

"I've got a pulse."

"Let's see if we can keep it this time..."

"Pulse is steady."

Every bump, every turn of every corner in the racing ambulance made Face's stomach lurch. Five miles to the hospital felt like fifty. He didn't know where Hannibal was. At the moment, he didn't have the sense to care. Shirtless and bloody, he was lost, his thoughts a blur, so hazy and confused that he hardly even noticed the hand on his knee. "Hey..." a compassionate voice started.

He looked up, and blinked a few times at the woman sitting across from him. She seemed as oblivious as he was to the noise around them, though probably for a different reason. "I'm Sharon," she started quietly, offering him a towel.

He stared for a moment at her outstretched hand before taking the towel and using it to clean the blood from his hands. "Dan James," he answered, using the first alias that came to mind.

"Were you there when this happened?"

He shut his eyes and swallowed hard before nodding. "Yeah."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't know," he hesitated. "I don't know who it was."

"Mr. James, I'm not with the police," she stated. "I'm sure they'll want to talk to you later but right now, I need to know what happened to him so that the doctor can have all the information possible."

"He was shot. And he fell three stories." Face dropped the towel on his lap and hung his head in his hands. "He landed on the windshield of a pickup."

"What's your relation to him?" she asked. "Is he a friend?"

"He's my," he hesitated, glancing at the bloody figure on the cot, "brother." Why did he say that? It was an unnecessary lie. "Step-brother," he corrected himself, recalling the alias he'd given.

"I need to know his name, his address, and his next of kin."

Face swallowed hard again, forcing back the bile that had crept into his throat. " His name is H. M. Murdock. All his medical records are on file at the VA hospital in Los Angeles. He's…" He trailed off, and it took him a few seconds to refocus. "He normally lives in the psych ward."

"Do you know his doctor's name?"

"No. He has several."

"Are you his closest relative?"

"Yeah."

"Do you happen to know his blood type?"

"He's AB negative," Face mumbled, eyes sliding closed again.

She scribbled quickly on the pad of paper in front of her. "Is he married?"

"No."

"Well, then, for right now... until we can get a hold of his doctor... we have to rely on the closest relative that we can contact." Face looked up. "And that would be you."

His eyes shut. Whatever that meant, it went in one ear and out the other. He shook his head again, confused. "Whatever you need me to do," he mumbled. "Just..." He opened his eyes again and stared at her, pleadingly. "... fix him."

She smiled back, and reached out to touch his knee again. "We'll do everything we can," she assured.

***

The waiting room was almost silent. Quiet whispers and a few shuffling papers. Tension and hopeful expectations. Face sat still, oblivious to it all, elbows on his knees and hands clasped out in front of him. His head was hung low between his shoulders as he waded through the haze in his mind, coming back occasionally to look up at the clock. Another ten minutes. Fifteen. Thirty.

The police had come and gone, and he hadn't offered them much. No, he didn't know who would want to kill his brother. No, they weren't from around here; they lived in LA. No, he didn't have a description of the person who shot him. No, there was no other family to notify.

"Excuse me," the nurse at the station called, holding a phone in one hand with her other hand over the receiver. Every head turned in her direction. "Is there a Mr. Peck here?"

Face's attention piqued at the name. Immediately, he stood and walked to the desk. "That's me," he said quietly.

The woman smiled. "Phone call for you."

"Thanks." He took the receiver and leaned forward on the counter as he put it up to his ear. "Hello?" There was only one person it could be.

"How's Murdock?"

He was too tired, too drained to afford any reaction to the sound of Hannibal's voice. "He's in surgery. Where are you?"

"At a payphone about a mile south of you," he answered. "I want you to go outside. I'll be there in a minute."

Face held his forehead in one hand, eyes closed. "I just told you Murdock's in surgery; I'm not going anywhere. Where the hell have you been?"

"It'll only take a minute," Hannibal stated. "Just come out here."

The phone went dead in his hand, and he sighed deeply before handing it back to the nurse with a tired smile. "Thanks."

"No problem," she smiled back.

He glanced at the swinging doors that led into the corridor that Murdock had disappeared down. He didn't want to leave. But he didn't have the strength to argue with Hannibal right now, even if he thought it would actually get him somewhere. He took a step away from the desk, then turned back. "Hey, uh..." The nurse looked up again, and met his gaze with a polite smile. "My brother's in surgery," he gestured back over his shoulder. "They told me he'd... probably be in there for quite a while. I'm going to step out for a few minutes but if... there's any word..."

She nodded. "When you come back, just check in with me and I'll let you know if there's been any change."

He smiled, grateful. "Thank you."

"No problem."

He turned and headed down the long hallway, stopping briefly for a drink at the fountain, and stepped out into the cool, cloudy day outside, immediately looking around for the rented car Hannibal would be driving. It only took a few minutes for it to appear. But he didn't pull up to the entrance. Instead, he parked in the furthest corner of the lot. Face sighed, and started toward him at a slow jog.

"How's Murdock?" Hannibal asked as he came closer.

"In surgery," he answered. How many times did he have to say it?

"Is he going to be okay?"

Face sighed, recognizing the concern in Hannibal's voice. "I don't know. His heart quit twice in the ambulance and they brought him back both times. As soon as they got him here, they took him back." Face glanced back towards the doors of the emergency room. "He's beat up pretty bad. Took two shots in the chest before he fell. But I don't think they were anywhere near his heart."

After a long pause in which Hannibal sought to process all of this, he reached into the backseat and pulled out a white button down shirt and sports coat. Face caught them with his free hand as they were tossed at him and smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

"I brought you a pair of jeans, too," Hannibal informed, noting the blood drying on the knees of the pair Face was wearing.

"Is that what you wanted me to come out here for?" he pressed, slipping his arms into the sleeves and starting on the lowest buttons. "Because it would've been just as easy to bring it inside..."

"Ashley left the motel in the backseat of one of the three cars parked out back," Hannibal explained, walking to the trunk and jingling his keys. "It would appear she went kicking and screaming..."

"It would appear," Face answered dryly, watching the cuff of the shirt as he adjusted it until it fit comfortably. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal shove the key into the lock and turn it. Face grabbed the jacket and transferred it to the backseat of the car. "But I did manage to retrieve this when it was all over."

In the trunk of the car was a man, gagged and handcuffed and apparently unconscious. Face paused for a long moment, staring at him. "Fascinating," he finally mumbled, looking away as he tucked the shirttails into his jeans. "What is it?"

"This, Face, is the driver of the third car."

Face's eyes narrowed, scanning over the blue jeans and T-shirt that the man was dressed in. "No black suits this time?"

Hannibal slammed the trunk again just as Face retrieved his coat off the top of the car. "Apparently not. Your gun's in the backseat."

Face walked to the door and pulled it open. Underneath the white towel on the floor were several guns, not only his. He stared at them for a moment. "Where'd you get all these?"

"Out of the third car." He smiled. "Nice, huh?"

Face knew better than to pull them out of the car in plain view of the security cameras. But he looked them over as well as he could without picking any up. Two M-16s, three Browning P-35 pistols, and an M-21 sniper rifle. His eyes lingered on the last one for a long moment. But he left it alone. For now.

He grabbed own weapon and shoved it into the back of his pants, safely out of sight under his jacket. Then he grabbed the jeans off the seat before shutting the door again. Hannibal put the keys back into his pocket and started toward the doors of the hospital in perfect stride with Face. "I'm thinking that as soon as Murdock comes out of surgery," Hannibal said. "We'll take our friend outside the city and play a little truth or dare."

***

"Mr. James?" Face turned away from the bed where Murdock was sleeping as a middle-aged man in a white lab coat stepped into the doorway and offered a hand. "Hi. I'm Dr. Storeman."

"You did my brother's surgery," Face stated, not wasting words as he shook the man's hand.

The doctor smiled. "Yes. I did."

The doctor's eyes shifted to Hannibal as he stepped closer, and they shook hands. "John Smith," he introduced. "I'm a... friend of the family."

The doctor smiled politely and glanced down at his clipboard as he retracted his hand. "Well, I have some very good news... and some not-so-good news." Both men waited, expressionless, as he began. "The _good _news is, the bullets were not at all difficult to retrieve and they did very minimal damage." He cleared his throat, pausing for a moment before he continued. "He has a broken arm, several broken ribs, but his spinal column," he looked up, meeting Face's gaze, "is intact. Undamaged." Face let out the breath he'd been holding. "I'm assuming something broke his fall before he hit the ground."

"Yeah uh..." Face wiped away the perspiration that had broken out on his forehead. "A car windshield."

"Well, that explains the lacerations. In any case, he was extremely lucky for that. Still not much of a landing, but I've seen patients who've fallen from a lesser height and were never able to walk again."

"What's the bad news?" Hannibal asked, his voice flat and serious.

Face glanced back at the doctor, waiting expectantly as the man shifted and took a deep breath. "The head injury that Mr. Murdock sustained..." he started quietly. "It's... going to be difficult to tell how extensive that damage is until he wakes up."

"Damage," Face repeated, watching him closely. "_Brain_ damage?"

The doctor took a slow breath, holding his clipboard with both hands down in front of him. "It's possible," he said quietly.

Face felt as if someone had just hit him in the chest with a sledgehammer. He stared, his thoughts clouding over again with that haze of confusion. How was this happening? How could this possibly be happening?

"As his doctor," the man continued, "it's my job to inform you of all the possibilities. And that is one of them. But understand, it's not the same as a... cancer diagnosis, for example. We just don't _know_. And we won't know until he wakes up."

"How long will that be?" Hannibal asked.

Again, the doctor hesitated before he answered, very quietly. "I'm afraid we can't say with any degree of certainty how long it will be." He paused for a moment to let that sink in before continuing, his eyes moving back and forth between the two of them. "Maybe a few days... or weeks..." He waited a long time before finishing, making sure that both men would take the news without falling on the floor. "... or he may never wake up."

Face didn't fall to the floor. But he did lower himself slowly into the chair at the side of the bed. Dropping his head forward, he reached out and took hold of the hand lying on the bed, avoiding the tubes that ran into the back of it. The doctor was still speaking, but he didn't hear a word of it. He was aware of the world around him only vaguely, lost in his own private hell. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he even remembered he wasn't alone in the room. The doctor had gone, but Hannibal was still there.

"Come on," Hannibal directed.

"I want to stay with him," Face mumbled.

"Face, he's in a coma. There's nothing you can do for him right now."

"He could wake up."

"And I'm sure he will, but let's make sure we're not behind bars when it happens." Very slowly, Face dragged his head up, turning his eyes to the man standing over him. The expression on Hannibal's face was serious... but sympathetic. "They requested his files from the VA," Hannibal reminded. "It's only a matter of time before Decker shows up here."

"What are we supposed to do about that?"

"We're going to not be in this room, for one thing."

Face turned to look at the still, silent figure on the bed. There was a tube running into his mouth, and under the hospital gown, attached to his chest. Tubes everywhere. Tubes keeping him alive...

"Face," Hannibal said quietly, sympathetically. "Come on. You can't do anything for him right now. Let's go find the bastards who did this. We'll come back as soon as we see what our friend from the motel can tell us."

Face glanced up, then back, debating for a long moment. Then, finally, he rose to his feet. Without a word, he followed a few steps behind Hannibal, away from the sleeping figure.


	15. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

The man was half-conscious but already he was mumbling. Face paused to listen for a moment as he tied the thick rope to the back bumper of the rental car. From there, it ran up and over a tree limb about fifteen feet off the ground, and hung down into Hannibal's hands.

"Ah, you're awake," Hannibal observed cheerfully, glancing down at him. "Just in time, too. We have a little game planned."

The man swayed as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. His eyes shifted as he came to, and he licked his chapped lips, trying to bring moisture back to his mouth. "You're probably a bit dizzy," Hannibal started. "You've been unconscious for a while. But I'm pretty sure you can still play this game."

"It's called truth or dare," Face continued, stepping forward with his hands in his pockets. "Ever play it?"

"Oh, I think _everyone's _played truth or dare, Face," Hannibal answered, finishing the winding knot in the rope and lowering the noose around the man's neck. The prisoner straightened suddenly as he realized what was happening, his eyes opening wider just as Face crouched down in front of him.

"So what's it gonna be, partner?" Face asked, staring straight into the man's puffy face. He hadn't been unconscious by accident.

But in spite of the blackened and swollen eyes on either side of the man's broken nose, in spite of the disorientation that made him sway back and forth, Face could see the cold, determined look that settled in the man's eyes. "Christopher J. Cazarski," he slurred. Face knew the routine before he even heard the rest of it. "Sergeant First Class, United States Army, 8236119."

Face looked up and met Hannibal's gaze. "The man's military," he stated, amused.

"Really?" Hannibal sounded thrilled. "Oh, this should be fun." He walked around to look at the man's face. "That's such a coincidence. We were with the Army, too." The man's eyes tracked lazily as Hannibal slipped his fingers into a pair of black leather gloves. "Where did you serve?"

"Christopher J. Cazarski... Sergeant First Class, United States Army..."

"Okay, forget the small talk, then," Hannibal shrugged, finishing with the gloves.

"... 8236119..."

"So what'll it be, Sergeant? Truth - or dare?"

"I, uh, don't think you explained the rules to him yet," Face pointed out.

"Oh, well, you know this game, don't you, Sergeant? See, you can either choose to tell us the _truth _about this girl you've been after and everything you know about her... or I'm going to dare you to hang from this tree by your neck."

The man's eyes closed. "Christopher J. Cazarski. Sergeant First Class, United States Army..."

"Sounds like a dare to me," Face concluded.

"Sure does."

As Face walked to the car and sat down in the driver's seat, Hannibal reached into his pocket for a cigar. "Did you know, it only takes a short time without oxygen to incur permanent brain damage?" He paused to light his cigar. "I forget how long, exactly. But I'm thinking we'll try increments of thirty seconds and see what happens."

The engine started on the car, and Face looked over the back seat. "Ready, Hannibal?"

Hannibal looked at the man with a friendly smile. "Are _you _ready, Sergeant?"

"Christopher J. Cazarski..."

"Go ahead, Face," Hannibal called.

Slowly, so as not to snap the man's neck, Face pulled forward. The rope tightened, then lifted, dragging the man up to his feet, then up into the air. He struggled, but the cuffs around his wrists weren't going anywhere. And even if they were, he wouldn't get that rope off of his neck while he was hanging from it. "See, ordinarily," Hannibal started, taking a few puffs off of his cigar, "there would probably be some sort of elaborate bluff here. We wouldn't _really _be willing to kill you. I bet that's what you've heard, right? I mean," he gestured freely, "we're not exactly mercenaries, we're just... concerned citizens with a colorful background. Everybody knows that. Set him down, Face."

The car rolled back slowly, and the man's feet touched the ground. He choked and gagged, and looked up to glare at Hannibal as the knot was loosened to allow him some air. "You're _crazy_," he growled, eyes narrowed.

Hannibal smiled proudly. "Absolutely." The man had already broken out of the pattern of name, rank serial number. This was going to be even easier than he'd thought. "But this time, you should know the rules have changed a bit. You see," he stepped forward, holding his cigar away from his mouth as he stepped forward, nose to nose with the man, "you went after my men to kill them. And you succeeded. I have to admit, that makes me angry. In fact, I'm _almost _angry enough to start amputating body parts until you get tired of taking dares."

The sergeant watched his interrogator, careful not to let his fear creep into his eyes. Everything the colonel said, he said with that carefree, conversational tone. Somehow, that tone was even more frightening than if he'd allowed his anger to show. Actions committed in rage were regrettable. But his blood seemed to be running ice cold right now. If he should actually kill him – intentionally or otherwise - there would be no remorse in the confessional booth on Sunday.

"You know what I don't understand, Hannibal?" His partner was perched on the back of the car, feet up on the bumper and leaning back on his arms. He sounded equally unconcerned about the fact that they were committing a felony assault. The sergeant wondered how many times they had done this before, and how many times they'd gone too far. "Seems like every time our games get really _good_, everybody decides they want to go home."

"You don't want to go home, do you, Sergeant?"

Setting his face in a cold, unemotional look, he glared at his captors. "You people are nuts," he hissed through gritted teeth. "You're _all_ nuts. You're not gonna get away with this."

"Well," Hannibal said cheerfully, glancing back again. "Sounds like another dare to me."

Face smiled as he slid off the car and moved once again to the driver's seat.

This time, the man was fully conscious and aware of what was happening before it happened. This time, he flailed wildly. But every time he struggled, it only made the noose tighter. "You know, they say that lack of oxygen makes one feel... euphoric just before passing out," Hannibal commented, tipping his head a bit as he studied the kicking, struggling figure. "Are you feeling euphoric, Sergeant?"

No answer. He couldn't answer if he'd wanted to. Hannibal waved, and Face backed the car up again, setting the man back down on his feet. "Now, perhaps I didn't make the rules of this game quite clear," Hannibal smiled politely as he stepped forward again, in no particular hurry. "So I'll refresh you on them because I wouldn't want to _force_ you into taking all these dares just so that I can get the pleasure of testing your pain tolerance." He reached up and loosened the ropes just a little so that the man wouldn't pass out. The sergeant gasped for air, wheezing and coughing.

"I consider myself to be quite fair and reasonable. Wouldn't you say so, Face?"

Face leaned against the side of the car this time, arms crossed, a perfect smile on his face. "Oh, definitely reasonable."

"See, there are _two _options," Hannibal directed at the man. "It's truth _or _dare. We'll stop coming up with dares when you start coming up with truths."

"But," Face grinned, "we're up for it as long as you are."

"Oh, I could do this all day," Hannibal confirmed. "I've got lots of new dares I'd like to try out. This is only the beginning."

The man answered him with a wicked smirk of his own. "You aren't kidding anyone, Colonel," the prisoner growled. "You two need me alive."

Hannibal smiled back, noting the use of his name. "Oh, I never said we'd kill you," he clarified. "You wouldn't be much fun to play with then."

He growled. "You're a sick bastard."

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," Hannibal grinned. "Face?"

Face immediately and cheerfully returned to the driver's seat. "You know this isn't going to work, you bastard," the man shot. "I've had the _same_ training you've had! Fought in the _same _goddamn war! And I'm not tellin' you _shit _unless you give me a damn good reason for..." His feet left the ground, cutting him off.

"Well, let's see," Hannibal reflected, glancing up at the sky. "I can think of two really good reasons why I want to see you suffer for a really long time. And unless you're one hell of a masochist, that would mean you have two good reasons to opt for truth over dare." He gestured. Face put the car back into reverse.

The man wheezed and sputtered again as he found his footing. Hannibal again loosened the knot. "You can do whatever you want to me," the sergeant hissed. "But you're not gonna get a damn thing out of me unless I _want_ to talk to you. And so far, you're not asking very nicely."

Hannibal raised a brow, amused by that. It sounded almost like a proposition. "You know, I guess I saw it more like a demand than a request."

"Call it whatever you want," the man growled. "But you're a fool to think you can get any more out of me than I could get out of you if the tables were turned."

"An interesting image," Hannibal granted. "So what are you suggesting?"

"I'll make a deal with you," he growled.

Hannibal considered for a moment before gesturing. "Go on..."

"Five hundred thousand dollars, and I'll tell you anything you wanna know."

Hannibal laughed. Loudly. Then he turned toward the car again. "Face?"

"Two hundred!" the man yelled as Face ducked back into the driver's seat. The man stared at Hannibal, eyes narrowed into slits. "And that plane you flew in on."

The car didn't move. Face was waiting for a signal. When he didn't get it, he stepped out again to hear what was being said. "Two hundred thousand dollars," Hannibal repeated, as if considering.

"And the plane," the man clarified.

"What makes you think," Hannibal demanded, stepping forward again, "that you have anything that's worth that kind of money?"

"It's quite a deal, Colonel," the man growled back. "She's paying me three."

He stopped advancing, and exchanged glances with Face. He'd heard that, too. Hannibal could tell by the cold look that had suddenly settled over him. Their eyes remained locked for a long moment. The two months of bouncing from place to place around the country had certainly taken its toll on their savings. Two hundred thousand dollars had always been a lot; now it seemed like even more. Face shook his head slightly.

Finally, Hannibal turned back. "I'll give you one," he bartered. "And let you live."

"And the plane."

"You can have the plane," Hannibal granted, almost nonchalant. Frankly, it didn't do him much good anyway with his pilot in a coma.

The man seemed to consider for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded. "Fine."

"Face?"

Without a word, Face withdrew the pistol from his side and opened the back door of the car, using the top of it to brace the weapon. The single bullet he fired went cleanly through the rope, and it fell limply to the ground at the man's feet. Instantly, the barrel was pointed at the man's head. "I suggest you don't make any sudden moves," he said flatly.

The man didn't move. Hannibal slipped behind him and unlatched the handcuffs. He half-expected the man to try some sort of daring attack. But whether it had not crossed his mind or the idea had been abandoned when he considered the gun aimed at his temple, he didn't make a move. He stood still, passive, rubbing his wrists as Hannibal loosened the rope from around his neck and dropped it on the ground. Then Hannibal moved away a safe distance and grabbed his own gun as Face shut the door again.

"Alright," Hannibal directed. "Let's hear this hundred thousand-dollar story."

***

"Her real name is Ashley Goldman," the sergeant informed them. "She's a first sergeant in the Army. Brilliant but… she's a bitch. Twenty-six years old."

"Funny," Face said coldly. "She doesn't look a day over sixteen."

"We met at Fort Leavenworth," he continued. "There were five of us at first. Eventually, that number grew. Ten. Then fifteen." Face handed the photo back and he put it back into his pocket. "It started off as a joke. One night... drunk. _You _guys came up as a topic of discussion."

"Gee, how flattering." Face glanced at Hannibal with a fake smile.

"There's two schools of thought on you guys: those who'd like to see you shot... and those who'd like to beyou."

Face blinked, surprised at that. "Are you kidding?"

"Not at all." The look on the man's face was dead serious.

"What am I missing here?" Face asked, turning to Hannibal. "Because I didn't think that getting run down and shotat made it to anybody's list of top ten ways to spend a Saturday afternoon."

"The cost/payment ratio is significant," the sergeant explained. "Especially among soldiers who are paid a lot less."

"Money isn't everything," Hannibal stated firmly.

"Well, considering the fact that most of your problems stem from the mess you made with the Bank of Hanoi..."

Face's eyes narrowed slightly. "So which are you?" he demanded. "The ones for us or against us?"

"We used your setup as sort of a model," the sergeant stated. "With a few unique twists of our own that made business more profitable. There were also more of us than there are of you. It made the equation kind of different."

"So you decided to do a little moonlighting and make some cash on the side," Hannibal said.

"And it worked," the man continued. "It would've worked better except we didn't have the same kind of publicity that you do."

"Or the skill," Face retorted. "You guys chased me around on a motorcycle for twelve hours. What the hell were you thinking?"

"We weren't trying to catch you," the sergeant clarified.

"What were you trying to do?"

He smiled. "To chase you on a motorcycle for twelve hours."

"Face, don't," Hannibal cut in. He pointed across the table at the sergeant. "You. Who hired you for this?"

"We did a few jobs, killed a few guys, made a few bucks..."

"That's your idea of emulating us?" Face asked with disgust.

The sergeant glanced at him, but didn't stop talking. "Then Ashley comes out with this idea to go after you guys. Sort of... eliminating the competition."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed. "Why? What would any of you have to gain from that?"

"Well, the idea was that we'd pose as you. A lot of people don't even know what you look like. Then those who do, we'd tell them that the business expanded, and you hired a few more people."

Face leaned to the side, his chin in his palm. "Oh, this just keeps getting better."

"A few of the guys bought into it," the sergeant continued. "Even elaborated a little more on it. The backup plan, of course, was that if we couldn't take you out quietly, we'd advertise as the ones who took you down."

Hannibal gave him an amused look. Clearly, the sergeant was unfamiliar with the kind of clientele they normally took in. That kind of advertising wouldn't work very well with the scared wives and sons of businesses failing to small-scale terrorism.

"The rest of us thought she was kidding. We all laughed about what a great idea it was, but nobody thought we were actually going to do it until she showed up with three million dollars and said 'let's go.'"

Face did a double take on that figure. "How much?"

"Her father has a lot of money. We all knew that, but we didn't know how much. We certainly didn't know she had access to that kind of money." He looked down, tracing his finger along the edge of the table. "It didn't make a lot of sense, to be honest. Even then, some of us were a little suspicious. The whole thing had originally been a get-rich-quick scheme. But then, she didn't really need to get rich. She already was rich. I should've realized way back then that it was something personal."

"What does she have against us?" Hannibal demanded.

"Not you," the sergeant clarified. He pointed at Face. "Him."

Face blinked, stunned. "Me? Why?"

"Face..." Hannibal started. The warning tone in his voice reminded him of a parent talking to a child who was considering the best explanation for how the cookie jar got broken. "Do you know her from somewhere?"

But Face was ready for it. He shot him a sarcastic look. "If I knew her, don't you think I would've said something a long time ago?"

That seemed sufficient explanation for Hannibal. "Did she ever say anything about this grudge?" he asked the sergeant. "Like why she had it?"

He shook his head. "Not a word. And she's never admitted to it being a personal grudge. But we can all tell."

"How?" Face challenged, not sure he trusted this man's intuition.

He looked across the table, straight into his eyes. "Because that test she took?" Face tensed slightly. "That was for real. A little kink in her plans. And I've never seen anybody react to it the way she did."

"What test?" Hannibal asked, eyes narrowed.

"Didn't seem to do much to change her plans," Face answered coldly.

"No, I wouldn't expect it to," he answered. "She's got it out for you. Don't think that that's changed, because it hasn't. She planned this for years before she moved. That list? In that cave? She wrote it all out by hand. And she put it there. Ten years ago. She and her high school boyfriend dug out the tunnel that went out the back with a coupla shovels. If you're thinkin' she's some girl you forgot to call on Monday morning," he shook his head, "you're not thinking big enough."

Hannibal leaned forward, rubbing his face with his hand. "Face..."

"I told you," Face answered firmly. "I have never seen her before."

"What is it she wants?" Hannibal demanded, dropping his hand again. "Ultimately."

"To make him suffer in any way imaginable," the sergeant answered, nodding at Face.

Face nodded. "Great."

"And to kill all of _you_." His eyes lowered. "She only wanted to leave him alive."

Hannibal glanced to the side and saw Face holding his head in his hands. Finally, things were starting to make sense. And at the same time, they were more confused now than ever.

"You can say whatever you want about her as a person," the sergeant continued. "And I'd probably agree with you, to be honest. She's a bitch to work with. But she's also a good strategist. She knew exactly how to play you. And she'll keep doing it. Until she gets what she wants."

"Just one more thing," Hannibal started, rising to his feet and tucking his gun into its holster. He looked across the table at the man. "How did Murdock die?"

The sergeant stared back, noting the way that Face's eyes turned to him as well. He shook his head. "If he died, then somebody did screw up. Because he's not supposed to be dead. Just in the hospital."

Face's eyes narrowed. "Then why shoot him?"

"You should've already asked yourself that question," the sergeant smiled sadly. "Why shoot him in the shoulder when she had him at point blank range? She's not a bad shot. She's military trained."

Face and Hannibal exchanged glances. Then Hannibal reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them across the table, into the sergeant's hands. "Wait three days," he ordered. "Then the money will be in the plane."

He turned away, heading for the car. But Face lingered at the table a moment longer before pushing himself up. "You said she'd keep doing it," he pointed out. "Does she really expect us to go after her a second time?"

"Oh, I doubt it," the sergeant answered.

"Then why the charade?" Face searched the man's face for answers. "Why carry it as far as she did if she was just going to openly turn on us?"

"I don't think Ashley has ever done anything openly in her life."

"She had to know she was pushing her luck too far when she walked out of that hotel room without telling anyone where she was going."

"I'm sure she did."

"What is she expecting us to do?"

The sergeant stood slowly, shoving the keys into his pocket. "Part of being a good strategist," he started, "is the ability to change the plan as the situation changes. To find the path of least resistance. The situation changed pretty dramatically when she found out she was carrying your child."

Face felt anger spark inside of him. "How the hell does she know it's mine, anyways?"

"Let's put it this way," the sergeant answered. "Ever since she actually got a reply from you guys, we've been on alert. She hasn't gone anywhere or done anything without telling someone, and I promise you she hasn't had any flings in that time. She wouldn't endanger the mission like that. Not when it's this important."

"She could've been pregnant before we talked to her," Face said firmly.

"Maybe," the sergeant granted. "But she hasn't had a steady boyfriend since we started planning all of this. And she's not the type to go for a fling. She's had one purpose in life for ten years, and it revolves around you."

Face glared. He couldn't begin to describe how messed up that was. "You don't know that," he maintained.

The sergeant shrugged. "It's none of my business, one way or another. I'm just telling you… between what I know of her and where she's been, and the way she reacted when she found out, I would be very surprised if that child wasn't yours. Take that for what you will. Funny thing is, she couldn't have planned it any better."

"What do you mean?" Face demanded.

"Oh, come on, Lieutenant." The sergeant slipped his arms into his jacket with a slight smirk. "Would you shoot her now? Knowing that you're killing your own child in the process?" Face frowned. Deeply. The sergeant offered a slight, sympathetic smile. "I don't envy you."

"Face!" He glanced over his shoulder at Hannibal, standing impatiently in the doorway of the car. As he turned back, the sergeant was already walking in the opposite direction. He watched him go, then shoved his hands in his pockets as he started back toward the car.

***

Hannibal drove into the parking lot of the hospital... and kept right on driving as his eyes came to rest on the MP vehicles parked near the door. "That sure didn't take long," Face mumbled under his breath.

"What does that look like to you?" Hannibal asked as he waited in the driveway to pull back out onto the road. Face glanced over and saw him hunched over the steering wheel, studying the building across the street.

Face followed his gaze. "Looks like an office building of some kind."

"You remember what room Murdock was in?"

"213, why?"

"And that room faces _this _road."

"Your point?"

"You think you'd have a clear shot from the roof?" Hannibal glanced at him. "Or do we need to get a room?"

"Shot?" Face blinked. He leaned forward, looking straight up. "Kinda hard to tell from ten stories down what a shot would look like. Would probably be easier to shoot from the ground."

"No, we don't want to be on the road." Hannibal sat up again. "Let's check it out."

Face shrugged as he relaxed back again. "You really think she's going to go after him in the hospital?" he sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head against the cool pane of glass beside him.

"I think there's a reason she wanted him in the hospital."

"Well, it must have something to do with torturing me," Face shot carelessly. He sighed as he looked away. "I still can't figure out where the hell she knows me from. I mean, she's twenty-six, I couldn't have gone to school with her. Or served with her. She was just a kid when we were in 'Nam..."

"Maybe you met her here and never got her name."

"No, it's not her name I'd remember anyway," he sighed. "It's her face. And I'm telling you, I've never seen her before."

"I believe you," Hannibal assured him. "But she made that list ten years ago. Maybe you forgot?"

"I wouldn't forget. Besides, ten years ago that would have made her sixteen," Face pointed out. "There's no chance in hell."

"What about an older sister?"

Face put his elbow up on the windowsill and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Goldman," he repeated, for the hundredth time in his head. "You know, that name is... vaguely familiar. I just… can't place it."

"So where's the best place to get a hundred thousand dollars?" Hannibal asked, changing the subject so abruptly Face almost got whiplash.

Face stared at him. "You're not actually considering paying that guy, are you?"

"Out of our own pockets? No. But Ashley's got money." Hannibal grinned, the first warning sign of the direction his mind was headed. "I wouldn't mind borrowing it from her."

Face laughed cynically. "Uh huh. Except we don't have Ashley. We don't even know where Ashley is."

"Not yet."

Face raised a brow at the simple answer. It was clear, by the way he'd said it, that there was an elaborate plan behind that answer. But he couldn't even begin to guess what it was. He didn't bother to try.

Hannibal pulled into an alleyway to the right and parallel parked against the curb as Face's mind wandered again. "She wanted Murdock in the hospital," Face considered. He was brainstorming through the things they knew and so far, he was coming up with nothing of any real substance. "Doesn't make any sense."

"Actually?" Hannibal threw the car into park and pulled the key from the ignition. "It does. She didn't want him dead. She wanted him to be a threat to us."

Face blinked, stepping out of the car and staring across the top. "A threat?"

"We've managed to keep his involvement with us under wraps. But at this point..."

Face frowned deeply, and stepped aside to shut the door. "She doesn't really think he'd turn on us..."

"Who knows what she's thinking," Hannibal shrugged. "In any case, if Decker is sitting outside of that room, Murdock's cover is blown." He pulled the back door open and lifted the blanket that covered the guns on the floor. He also grabbed his jacket, and Face watched as he disassembled and hid the M-21 inside. "He'll have to decide whether he wants to continue with us, out in the open, or walk away. Any way you look at it, whether he's willing to talk to Decker or not, his relationship with us is about to get really strained."

"Well, but still... you can't get much more strained than dead," Face pointed out as he started toward the street, hands in his pockets. "We still don't have any legitimate reason why she didn't just kill him."

Hannibal shook his head. "I can't even guess at her reason. Not at this point." He glanced at the man walking beside him. "But the one thing I know? She does have a reason. And if we give her any amount of time to execute her plan, we're going to find out from the defensive side what it is."


	16. Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"That's it," Face pointed to the window on the hospital, two up and three from the left.

"Next to him, all three of those rooms are empty, right?"

"Looks that way."

"The center room - what does that shot look like to you?"

Face turned away from the ledge of the building, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked toward Hannibal, who was assembling the sniper rifle. "Depends what I'm aiming at."

Hannibal handed over the rifle and Face set it on the building ledge and leveled it carefully, crouching down behind it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal reach for a cigar and paused to light it before bothering to answer.

"On the wall by the bed," Hannibal directed, "there's a valve. For an oxygen tank."

Face's eyes narrowed as he scanned the wall, one inch at a time. "You realize that's going to be a pretty big explosion," he mumbled.

"Not too bad. There's a safety switch that should contain it to that room."

"Still, it could be enough to take out the wall."

"It could. That's why we needed two empty rooms right next to each other."

Even at this distance, Face found the valve, using the scope to track the tube into the wall. He couldn't tell where the tank was inside of the wall. If Hannibal wanted an explosion, the target was one inch tall by a half-inch wide - four stories down. "I'd have a better shot if I was lower."

"Can you hit it or not?"

That sounded almost like a challenge. Face smirked. "How many tries do I have?"

"One."

That would be all he'd need.

A fraction to the left to account for the wind he could see blowing the flag on the rooftop... Steady hands held the gun as Face's finger rested on the trigger. Carefully, gently, almost with a sense of loving care, he squeezed it toward him.

And the shot was immediately followed by an explosion as the room across the street erupted into flames.

***

The blast of flame that erupted out into the hallway knocked the MP from his chair right onto his face against the cold tile floor. He was aware of the screams that followed, but only vaguely. His ears were still ringing as he pushed himself up, staring in wide-eyed horror. The room two doors from his post was pouring flames into the hallway.

"Sergeant!" The voice of his C.O. sounded like it was coming down a long, echoing tunnel. He blinked hard, shell-shocked and confused.

The door to H.M. Murdock's room was open a second later. Still gaping, the Sergeant stared inside. The wall between the room and the one beside it was missing entirely, collapsed into a pile of debris. "How does this damn brake unlock!"

Brake. The bed. They had to get him out of there... Training overcame the shock, and he stumbled into the smoke-filled room. It was only a few seconds later that they were joined by one of the nurses, who knew how to unlock the brake on the bed. "Wait, wait!" she yelled, unhooking him from the machines with practiced speed. "He's not breathing on his own!"

"He's not going to be breathing ever again if we don't get him out of here!" Decker shot back.

She ignored him, hooking a portable oxygen mask to his face. "We need to get him to the ER," she ordered as the two men wheeled him out of the room so fast she could barely keep up. "There'll be an ambulance there to take him to another hospital."

Everywhere around them, there was chaos. The fire alarms were screaming, flames crackling as patients in hospital beds were shuttled through the hallways. Half-coherent yelling, orders that made no sense. "Stacy, shut off the valve!" The man sounded panicked. "Shut off the...!"

Another explosion. Then another. They barely remained on their feet as they scrambled out to the ambulance, then into the back of it where the nurse turned the pump over to the paramedics. With hardly a word, they sped out of the parking lot, sirens blaring.

***

"You were right," Face confirmed, looking away from the scope and setting the gun on its end as he stood. "Murdock was on the first ambulance out."

"Which headed west," Hannibal mused. "That means he's going to North General."

"Decker was with him, you know," Face pointed out.

"I figured he would be." Hannibal leaned forward on the ledge, staring down into the street below as the hospital staff frantically evacuated patients. "In fact," he smirked, "I think I would've been disappointed if he _wasn't_."

Face turned his attention to the weapon in his hands, breaking it apart. He loved the way that gun handled. "So what now?" he asked. He glanced up briefly. "I'm a little curious as to why we just blew up a hospital."

"We didn't blow it up," Hannibal corrected, pointing at him to emphasize this clarification. "We started a fire in an empty room. They should be perfectly capable of getting everyone out of there just fine."

Face smirked. Fires in hospitals were the very foundation of the animosity between Hannibal and Decker, and he knew it. With that in mind, this seemed just a bit ironic. "So they get everyone out," Face granted. "And then what?"

But Hannibal didn't explain any further. He just looked at Face... and smiled with complete confidence. Face shook his head as he finished with the weapon.

He was on the jazz...

***

"May I help you?"

"Uh... yes, I... I hope so." Face laughed, tensely. "Actually, I guess I hope _not _but... well..." He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry. I... I'm just..." Again, he coughed, and took a deep breath. The woman across the counter smiled politely back at him.

"Sorry," he apologized. Another breath. "I'm looking for my brother."

She blinked. "Your brother?"

"Yeah, I have a feeling he might... This is the city morgue, right?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"Oh, good." He let out a sigh of relief. "I mean, not good, but… sorry, I'm just a little scatterbrained."

She reached for a clipboard on the desk in front of her. "What's your brother's name?"

"His name is H.M. Murdock but... he probably wouldn't have had any identification on him." She glanced up and met his eyes. Face shifted again. "See... well... he's never been the same since he came back from Vietnam and he uh... He's insisted on living the past two years out under this viaduct on I-94..." He watched her expression carefully to make sure she was still buying this. "I always bring him cigarettes every other day but he hasn't been there now for several days and I'm concerned that something might've... you know... happened to him."

Her expression softened into a look of compassion. "Well, we currently have four people we haven't been able to identify," she confirmed. "Can you tell me what he looks like?"

"Well, he uh," he gestured in a non-specific way, "has kind of blond, brown hair and he's about medium height or a little taller."

Another woman approached through the door at the side, and locked eyes briefly with Face's. "Well, we have two men that might fit that description." The women looked up. "Janet, this is -" She glanced back at Face. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."

"Carl," he answered with a tense smile. "Carl Murdock." Boy, did that sound strange...

"He's looking for his brother. Might be one of the men we've not been able to identify."

Janet nodded and glanced up at him with a pleasant smile. "If you'd like to come with me, I can show you who we have here."

"I'd really appreciate it."

"Just come around to those doors over there," she pointed. "I'll meet you there."

With a worried expression, Face walked to the doors. She opened them as he approached. "How long has your brother been missing?" she asked as he followed her into the hallway.

"Well, it's... hard to tell," he admitted. "I don't see him every day. He insists on living out on the streets, no matter how hard I try to convince him that it's not safe."

"That's sad," she sympathized. "So many things can happen out on the streets. We see it all the time, and it just breaks my heart. So many of these people never even get identified."

"Well, that's why I'm here," Face said somberly. "Although there's a part of me that hopes he's not here."

"I understand," she nodded.

He hung back a few steps as she opened the doors of a larger room and crossed to the wall of refrigerated storage units, high heels clicking on the floor. "Right over here," she directed.

Reluctantly, he followed. He'd seen a fair number of dead bodies in the war, but he never gotten used to it. He wasn't afraid of death, and he certainly wasn't afraid of people who were already dead. But something about death was... unsettling. He didn't like to think about it. Even as he walked through his day to day life getting shot at and paraded in front of dangerous men as bait, he chose not to think about it.

John Doe. There were four such labels. Face stepped closer, and paused to watch as Janet unlatched the cooler and pulled the long tray out. As she unzipped the thick, black bag, Face let out a deep sigh of relief mixed with fear and uncertainty. "It's not him."

"Okay," Janet said softly, closing the bag again. "Let's look at the next one, then?"

Face nodded, clasping his hands behind him and rocking back and forth on his heels. She closed and locked the cell again, then moved on to the next one. As she unlatched it, Face took in a deep breath, readying himself for the dramatic performance.

"Oh! My God, it's him!" He covered his face with his hands, and forced a yawn with his jaw clenched. On cue, his eyes watered. Staggered breathing added to the effect and by the time he brought his hands down again to stare into the lifeless face of a complete stranger, the tears were almost overflowing. Once they got started, he knew he could keep them going.

"Oh, I let this happen!" he wailed. "I should've done something! I should've been there!"

"Mr. Murdock, I'm so sorry," Janet consoled, placing a hand on his arm.

He sniffled, hiding his face with one hand and wrapping his fingers around hers with the other. "How did he die?"

She pulled her hand away to check the chart lying beside the body. "Cause of death was epidural hematoma. Bleeding in his brain." She looked up. "He suffered some kind of a blow to the head. Maybe a fall of some kind."

Perfect.

Face closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "What uh," he sniffled, blinking back the last of the tears. "What do I do about a funeral."

Janet smiled warmly. "I can get you a list of funeral homes in the area. They'll be happy to work with you on the arrangements."

"I'd like to have him cremated."

She nodded. "If you'd like to come with me, I can get you the phone number. When you call, ask for Mike. He'll tell you what to do."

"Thank you," Face choked back. "Thank you so much."

***

Face picked up a bottle of 25-year-old Chivas Regal on his way back to the hotel. Walking through the door, he set it down on the dresser and headed straight for the shower. For the next thirty minutes, he stayed there, fully appreciating the unlimited hot water, letting it sting his skin and raise his body temperature until he was dizzy. He tried to keep the bandaged wound on his arm out of the water. He would have to change the dressing tonight. With everything else that had happened in the past forty-eight hours – when was the last time he'd slept? – he'd almost forgotten about it. Rubbing at his shoulder with his good arm, he winced at the tension that knotted his muscles. He was sore. Tired. Thank God it would be a relaxing night.

That fact was a stroke of good luck in a series of very unpleasant events. They couldn't have planned it better. The hospital Murdock had been transferred to was directly across from a hotel - a _nice _hotel - and they just happened to have a clear view from the third floor right into Murdock's room. As long as no one knew they were here, and as long as Hannibal had some sort of plan for how to get that money from Ashley, they could stay here as long as they had to - as long as it took for Murdock to wake up.

He could feel his pulse, pounding in his tingling arms and legs. With a weakened grip, he cooled the water and let it hit his face, bringing his temperature back down. His scalp tingled where the water ran through his hair, nerves reacting to the sudden change from hot to cold. After only a few seconds of that, he stepped out of the shower, dried off, and slipped his jeans back on. With the towel still draped around his neck to catch the water dripping from his hair, he stepped out into the room and looked around.

He found glasses on the dresser, ice in the small refrigerator, and Hannibal out on the balcony. He poured two glasses of the scotch, but took the bottle with him as he stepped out into the cool night air. "You're going to freeze," Hannibal observed without looking back. He was leaning on the cement ledge that wound around the balcony, looking down at the darkened rooms of the hospital.

"Probably," Face granted. He set the $300 bottle on the ledge, and handed one of the glasses to Hannibal.

He eyed it for a long moment before accepting. "If you need to sleep for a while," he offered, "I'll keep watch out here."

Face glanced at the two beds in the room behind him. They looked incredibly inviting. "Well, I won't argue with you," he shrugged.

"How did it go?" Hannibal questioned, glancing at him. "Did you have any trouble?"

"None whatsoever," Face smirked. He took a sip from his glass, letting it burn his tongue and all the way down his throat. "Piece of cake."

"You took the picture to the newspaper?"

"It'll be in tomorrow's edition."

"And the viewing?"

"Day after tomorrow from two 'til four."

Face set his glass on the ledge and felt his pockets for the pack of cigarettes tucked there. The lighter was in his other pocket. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Hannibal withdraw the cigar from his mouth to take a sip of the scotch.

"Don't suppose you'd care to let me in on this plan of yours," Face pressed, watching the dimly lit room in the hospital across the street. He was acutely aware of the rifle in the corner of the balcony, assembled and ready, but the room was perfectly quiet.

"She wanted him alive and in the hospital," Hannibal reminded him.

Face raised a brow as he took a long, slow draw from his cigarette. "You think she'll actually buy it that he's dead?"

"I don't know," Hannibal admitted. "I don't think it matters much."

"How's that?"

"Because one way or another, she'll be at that viewing."

"So will Decker," Face pointed out.

Hannibal smirked. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

Face considered that for a long moment, and felt a grin cross his lips as he considered the scene that would unfold tomorrow morning. "What I wouldn't give to see the look on Decker's face when he sees that newspaper."

***

Colonel Decker's eyes opened at the sound of the knock on his door, and his eyes immediately came to rest on the clock hanging on the wall. It was only six in the morning, but he was instantly awake. He turned on the uncomfortable hospital bed to glance at the door. "Come in," he called.

Captain Crane stepped through the door and immediately saluted. "Sir. I think you should see this."

Decker was on guard in a fraction of a second. The very first thought that crossed his mind came immediately out of his mouth. "Where is Murdock?" he demanded.

"Well, that depends on who you ask." Decker's eyes narrowed and the captain looked down with a slight grin at his own joke. "Sir."

Decker held out a hand for the newspaper that Crane had brought to him, and scanned it quickly. His eyes soon found what he was looking for, just before realizing he was staring at the obituaries - and an attractive picture of a much younger Captain Murdock in full uniform. He blinked a few times, and looked back up at Crane. "Where is he?" he demanded, his voice a deep growl.

"He's in his bed," the subordinate answered quickly. "Nobody's gone in or out since the nurse at five, and he was just fine when she left."

Decker frowned deeply as he studied the newspaper. What the hell kind of elaborate game was this? It made absolutely no sense. But then, the A-Team rarely did. Why fake the death of a man who was clearly not dead? And why start a fire in a hospital to set it up? There was not a doubt in his mind that they had somehow been responsible for that initial explosion. This served only to confirm it.

"Get me Colonel Rogers on the phone," he ordered. "We're going to need more men."

"More men, sir?"

He had no answers to the many ridiculous questions that came to mind when he tried to consider what their plan could possibly be. But one thing he knew for absolute certainty: "This has Hannibal Smith written all over it."

***

"Tell me you found him."

It sounded like an order. The man slipped into the booth before answering. "Not exactly," he answered.

Ashley's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean, not exactly? The MPs should be parked outside. It shouldn't be _that _hard."

"There's no MPs at any of the local hospitals," he informed her with a sigh. Without another word, or waiting for her to continue, he slid the folded page of a newspaper across the tabletop to her.

She glared at him briefly before picking it up. Right away, her eyes came to rest on the photo of H.M. Murdock. "Are you kidding me?" she cried, so loudly that the man glanced around to make sure no one else was listening.

"He must have died in the explosion," he tried to explain.

She slapped the paper down onto the table. "No, he didn't die in the explosion," she shot back. She shoved it aside and reached again for her coffee.

"Well, how do you know?" he challenged. "I mean, we have no way of actually getting inside any of these hospitals. Nobody will tell us if he's been checked in and the doors to every ICU in the city all have key cards or panels where you need a code to get in."

"That's not my problem," she reminded him. "It's yours. I told you to find him. Do what you have to do."

"Well, maybe he is dead..."

"And maybe he's not!" She pounded the table for emphasis. The stunned look from the man across from her made her look away, and a moment later the waitress approached with an uneasy smile.

"Is everything alright?"

"Fine, thank you," she managed, calming herself.

"More coffee?"

"Please."

The waitress filled the cup, and left. With a sigh, Ashley lifted it and took a small sip. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, glancing at the man seated across from her. "I'm just... having a bad day."

"Well, that's... understandable."

"Look, I need to know where he is," she stated firmly.

"Why?" he questioned, confused. "I still don't understand this. What's the point of putting him in the hospital if you want him dead?"

She glared over the top of her coffee cup at the PFC across from her. "I don't want him dead," she clarified. "I said I don't care if he lives. There's a big difference."

"So what difference does it make if he's dead or alive if you don't care? Why didn't you just shoot him in the head when you had a chance?"

"Because I need more time than that."

"More time for what?"

She stared across the table at him. She didn't owe him any explanation. She didn't owe him a damn thing. But after a long hesitation, she finally spoke. "Wherever he is... that's where the military police will be."

"So?"

"As satisfying as it would be to look right into that bastard's eyes and pull the trigger," she mumbled, turning her eyes down to the tabletop, "I think it will have more of an effect if it's done by a firing squad."

"So you intend to help them get caught?"

"Not them," she corrected. "Just him. I'll take care of Hannibal beforehand."

The man stared across the table at her. He found himself shaking his head slightly. "I don't understand it," he finally stammered, after a long and uneasy silence. "What on earth do you have against this man?"

Ashley's eyes narrowed into slits as she stared down at the table, her grip tightening around the coffee mug in her hands. "I'm not paying you to understand," she whispered, her voice saturated with hateful venom. "I'm paying you to take orders." Her eyes rose slowly to his, and she glared. "Is that too difficult for you? _Private_?"

The man shook his head, raising his hands in a defenseless gesture. He wouldn't get an answer out of her and he knew it. None of them would. For three hundred thousand dollars... she was paying them not to ask questions.

"So what do you want us to do now?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably. "We haven't found him yet. The paper there says he's dead," he gestured. "I'm not so sure he isn't. That whole floor of that hospital was damaged and they're being real tight-lipped about it with the press. How do you know he's still alive?"

"Because they set that fire," she stated. "And they wouldn't set a fire to kill their own man."

"How could they possibly have set the fire?" he asked, stunned. "There was an armed guard outside the door. They're wanted fugitives..."

"I don't know how," she admitted. "But I know they did it."

"But... why? It doesn't make any sense."

"Well apparently," she looked again at the newspaper, "they want me to think he's dead." She frowned deeply. "Except I don't buy it. Not for a minute."

"So what do you want us to do?" he asked. He sounded tired. He was through trying to figure out the mind games at work here. He just wanted to finish this job so he could buy that condo in Hawaii - and forget that any of this had even happened.

She was quiet for a long moment, considering. Then, finally, she set the paper down. "It pisses me off that they think I'm so stupid," she mumbled. She stared at the tabletop, considering her options, and finally looked up. "The viewing is only from two to four today," she informed him. A wicked smile crossed her face. "They want us to go. So let's go."


	17. Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

"Who the hell is that?"

Decker watched, eyes narrowed, at the procession into the funeral home. A woman and four men, all dressed in black, all hugging their jackets closed.

"I don't know, sir," Crane answered. "Maybe they're here for someone else."

"There's no one else in there," Decker said. "Not for this time, anyway."

"Do you want to intercept them?"

Decker considered it very carefully, and raised the two-way to his mouth. "Sanuel, there's five people on their way in. Four men and a woman. Watch them. But don't stop them."

"Yes, sir," the voice came back.

He made note of the two black cars they'd stepped out of, bearing Florida license plates.

"It's three o'clock already," Crane observed. "Maybe they're not coming."

"Oh, they're coming," Decker answered with complete confidence. "They didn't go through all this trouble just to stand us up."

"Maybe they just wanted us away from the hospital?"

He'd thought of that. It was why he'd increased the guard fivefold when he'd left. But his gut told him that the hospital would stay quiet. After all, what did they have to gain by breaking into it? They couldn't exactly take their man out on a stretcher and whisk him back to Los Angeles. He was on life support. The hospital was the best place for him - the _only _place for him.

"They'll be here," he declared. "I don't know why... but they'll be here."

***

"They're here somewhere," Ashley said quietly, sitting down in the front row of folding chairs, legs crossed carefully. That man was _not _H.M. Murdock; she hadn't expected it to be. She was just waiting expectantly for the trap to spring.

There were three men in military uniform in the room. They would provide a buffer of sorts. A shield. She wasn't expecting this to go over smoothly. Idly, she wondered at the logic in setting out such a public invitation. They had to know that the military police would show up...

"How long do you want to wait?"

She set her hands on her knee carefully, eyes shifting around the room. They were being watched. She could feel it. "As long as it takes."

***

"You ready?"

Face checked his ammunition once more, then nodded. "I still think this is a huge risk," he mumbled. "You're going to get us killed."

"Maybe."

The nonchalant acceptance of that possibility made Face sigh deeply. At least he was well rested and alert. And at least they knew where Ashley _was_. They weren't just shooting in the dark. But now they had to get her, and right out from under Decker's nose, and in broad daylight.

The heavy rain of a fall storm reflected his mood. Dark and dreary... angry. He watched the rain pound the windshield of the rental car for another moment before looking at Hannibal. "What do you think the chances are we'll get _in _without being noticed?"

"We'll have to," Hannibal stated plainly.

"Right." Face rolled his eyes as he looked away. "I'm not even going to ask about getting back out."

"Face..." That voice, calm and almost comforting - if Hannibal was capable of such a thing - made him turn. It also made him realize that hiding the concern that he knew was written all over his face was pointless. Maybe even counterproductive. Hannibal had one hand on the door, the other on the weapon that was resting in his lap. "We're going to get through this."

He forced a smile in return. "Look me in the eye and tell me this plan is foolproof and I'll believe you," Face answered quietly. "But if you can't do that... don't ask me not to worry."

"The more you worry, the less effective you're going to be," Hannibal pointed out. "And we both know that."

"What am I supposed to do?" Face sighed. "By all accounts, it looks like..."

"Suck it up, Lieutenant," Hannibal interrupted. Face fell silent, staring back at him impassively. That color of comfort had turned to a forceful command, even though his tone hadn't changed in the least. But then, almost a plea, "I need you on this. I need you at your _best_."

Face let his eyes slide closed as he turned his head away. He leaned on the door, holding his forehead with his fingers. "How does this end, Hannibal?" he asked quietly, seriously. "Best case scenario, what happens?" He turned and opened his eyes again, but still held his head. "Is it even worth it?"

"What's the alternative?" Hannibal challenged, eyes narrowing slightly.

"We go home," Face offered with a slight gesture. "Go to the funeral... and go the hell home. Forget Ashley, forget the money..." He sighed as he let his hand drop, sitting back against the seat again. "I don't even care why she did it, Hannibal. I just want to go home."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"Yeah, well, I don't feel much like me, either," Face shot, eyes narrowed as he glared at the figure in the driver's seat. "In the past few days I've had two people die in my arms. People I care about!"

"Murdock's not dead," Hannibal reminded.

"Well, he's not alive, either!" The anger came unexpectedly, and Face let it simmer back down as he turned away again, looking out the window. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"It's okay."

He hid his face again, hands over his eyes as the silence stretched. "I just want to know why we're doing this," he finally said, just above a whisper. "What is it going to prove?" He looked again at Hannibal. "We can't get BA back. We can't bring Murdock out of that coma any faster by nailing Ashley."

"And we can't be sure that she'll leave him alone until she's put in her place."

"She didn't want him dead, remember?"

"Because she thought she could get you."

Face stared at him for a long moment, then looked away. The reminder that this whole damn thing was his fault seemed almost like hitting below the belt. But at the same time, he realized that wasn't Hannibal's intention.

"I don't have a goddamn clue what her plan was, Face, but know this: She had a plan. We screwed with it to get the ball in our court. And if we take off back to LA and leave her here - and Decker will pull his men off of that room the moment we're gone; don't think he won't - then whatever reason she had for keeping him alive is gone."

"She has no reason to kill him, either."

"No, she doesn't. Except for pure, unadulterated spite." Hannibal gestured, letting his carefully controlled frustration at the entire situation show. "Now if you can look me in the eye and say that Murdock will be safe if we disappear back to LA and leave him to Ashley's mercy, then I will be on the next plane home. But unless you can do that, we have one option. And that's to deal with her."

Face's eyes slid shut. Of course he couldn't guarantee that. They both knew he couldn't.

"She's not going to go away, Face," Hannibal said, more quietly. More calmly. "And we can't just run away from this."

"I'm not running away," Face shot, immediately glaring across the seat.

"You're talking about going back to LA and leaving Murdock here," Hannibal reminded him. "What do you call it?"

Face growled in frustration. "Murdock is in a coma!" he cried. "It is not going to make one bit of difference to him until he wakes up!"

"It will if Ashley kills him," Hannibal snapped. Face sighed as he looked away. "If nothing else, Decker's going to keep a guard on that door as long as he knows we're in the area and thinks we might show up there. If we leave, we leave Murdock unprotected. And I will not do that."

"I'm not arguing with you," Face mumbled. "I'm not suggesting we abandon Murdock; you know that. But if he's the one we're worried about, I've got no problem sitting there on that balcony and watching him until he wakes up. But this...?" He sighed deeply. "I'll be honest. This seems like an unnecessary risk."

"It is a risk," Hannibal confirmed. "But it's not unnecessary."

Face studied him carefully for a long moment, considering that, trying to figure out how he was justifying it. "You never answered my question," he pointed out.

Hannibal was quiet for a moment. Then, finally, he replied with a deep sigh. "If we can convince Decker to arrest Ashley, she will be out of the picture," he stated.

Face laughed cynically. "Are you kidding? He'll give her a medal! We're wanted dead or alive, remember?"

"That's not why he'll arrest her," Hannibal corrected. "And it's not why he'll keep her."

Face sighed, and shook his head. "What, then?"

"He doesn't know her connection to us. For all he knows, she's our ally. And if she should start shooting at him, openly threatening him... no amount of excuses on her part will change that perception of her."

"He can't hold her forever," Face pointed out.

"We don't need him to. Once she's on his radar, he's our tool to use against her."

"So not only do we need to make her start shooting at him, but we need to make sure he feels threatened enough to respond... and that he never sees us here."

"Or," Hannibal offered, "we can sit down and explain the whole situation to him. Maybe he'll even believe it." He smiled.

Face sighed deeply and shook his head. "Perfect," he answered, letting the sarcasm drip from his voice.

"Well, with a plan this risky… Of course we need a backup."

***

3:25. Ashley glanced briefly at her watch and placed her hands back on her knee. They _would _be here. What were they waiting for? The movement to her right caught her eye long before the woman approached. "They're here," she whispered quickly, sliding into the chair beside her.

"Where?"

"In the alley. They just pulled up."

Ashley stood. "Stay here," she mumbled. "And be ready for anything."

"Where are you going?"

A wicked smirk crossed Ashley's face. "To set out a welcome mat."

***

Colonel Decker's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as the unfamiliar woman stepped out the door and headed straight for their car. But he didn't say a word. His eyes followed her across the parking lot, and as she finally leaned on the door with her arm up on the hood, he rolled down the window. "Can I help you?" Pleasantries were not his strong point. Whatever she wanted, she'd best make it clear in one quick hurry.

"Do you have men guarding the rear entrance to this building?"

He blinked, a bit stunned by the question. Of course he had men at the rear entrance. Why was she asking? "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, wary of anyone who would pose such a question. Even more than her words, he was wary of that slight smirk on her face.

"I'm just asking," she replied, ignoring the question. "Because the two men you're after? They're sitting in a car in the alley."

Decker stared at her for a long moment. Then, still watching her, he reached for the radio on the dashboard. "Rosten?" he called.

He waited several seconds for the reply, but none came. A second try. Then a third. But the team guarding the back entrance was not responding. Decker growled as he replaced the radio and threw the door open with an irritated, "God damn it!"

The woman stepped aside, and didn't attempt to follow. Behind him, he could hear Crane on the radio, and all units were moving to the building. He didn't know who the girl was and he didn't particularly care. It wasn't her word he was relying on; it was the silence of his men when they should've been responding. They weren't guarding the back door anymore. They probably weren't even conscious.

Through the front doors and down the hall, pistol drawn, he figured he was ready for anything. But he wasn't quite prepared for just how open his two targets had left themselves. Standing near the coffin of an unknown man, weapons pointed at the unarmed civilians in the room… they should have been open targets for the men Decker had placed in the room. But those men were disarmed. Three of the four were lying on the floor and the last was looking down the barrel of an assault rifle in Peck's hands.

"Where is Ashley?" Smith demanded, his voice flat.

It never ceased to amaze him how they could pull something like this off. Even getting into this position was a feat in and of itself. Decker's men were not amateurs. And they knew better than to underestimate these targets. And moreover, Smith had done it without firing a single shot. Decker would've heard it if there had been gunfire.

"She's not here," the one woman among all the men answered with a glare.

"I didn't ask where she wasn't," Smith clarified. "I asked where she was."

He didn't know what the plan had been. He didn't know what it was now. And he didn't care. He just moved. A gesture put his men into place at the other door, and a silent count of three put them inside the room. Seven guns to Smith and Peck's two. It only took them a second to realize that they were outnumbered.

"Hello, Decker."

"Make one move," Decker threatened, his voice low, "and it's gonna be you in that coffin."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it." Smith tipped the barrel of his weapon to the floor. "But maybe I should ask you. Where's Ashley?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Decker growled. "But you're gonna put your weapon down on the floor. Nice and slow."

Given their current predicament, there was no point in arguing.

***

Ashley was standing by the car, arms crossed delicately over her black dress as she watched them passively. "There you are," Hannibal greeted her with a smile as he was led forward. There was a gun in his back and a hand on his arm in addition to the handcuffs. He had been rendered as harmless as he could be while still conscious.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she shot back at him. "What are you trying to pull with all of this, anyway?"

The smile remained firmly fixed as he shrugged. "Guess it doesn't matter much now, does it?"

As Decker turned his attention away just briefly to relay orders, she took a step closer. "You know, if I didn't know better," she started quietly, "I'd say you did all of this just to piss me off."

"Yeah," he smirked back. "We're good at that."

"Too bad for you." She leaned forward and lowered her voice, almost to a whisper. "Too bad for Murdock."

"Lady, step back," Decker warned, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of range.

Any reaction she might have gotten from Hannibal was lost as she was forced to turn her mind to Decker. But her words, more frantic now, were still very much aimed at Face. "Where is he?" she cried. "You tell me where he is, you bastard! Tell me what you did with him!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw the look that flashed across Face in response to her outburst: a mix of horror and fury. "Don't even think about it," Face threatened. Normally glib remarks were lost in the pure emotion.

"You tell me what you did with him!"

"Sergeant, get these men in the car," Decker ordered.

"Don't do it, Ashley," Face growled through gritted teeth. "Don't do it; you will regret it."

"Face!" The warning from Hannibal did more to subdue him than the three men it took to wrestle him into the back seat of the car. It was only once the doors were firmly shut, and a gun pointed directly at Smith's forehead by Captain Crane in the front passenger seat that Decker took his eyes away from them. He looked at the woman who was standing in front of him, hand over her face, crying silent tears.

"Sorry," she apologized, sniffling.

"Are you Ashley?" he demanded.

"Yes." She lowered her hand after a quick brush at her makeup-streaked eyes.

"Might I ask what your business is with these two?"

"I'm a close personal friend of Mr. Murdock's," she explained. "The VA hospital told me that he'd been shot, and they sent his information to a hospital up here. And then when I get here, there's an announcement in the paper that he's dead and there's a funeral." She gestured, punctuating her frustration. "And so I came here thinking he was dead and I find out that that's not even him. And these… these crazy people are somehow… setting up this whole thing for God-knows-what reason and I just want to find out what's happened, where he is, how he is… and I want to know he's okay."

Decker's eyes narrowed at her for a moment, then turned to the men in the back of the car. Smith was irrational at times, and took insane risks. But even he wouldn't arrange something so elaborate for no reason at all. He wasn't stupid. Decker stared at the woman in front of him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Listen, lady," he started. "I don't know what your involvement in this whole thing is. And frankly, I don't care. But if I were you I would go home, get on with my life, and forget that you ever even met these two. Is that understood?"

She lowered her head, and hesitated for a long moment before looking back up at him. "I didn't come here for them," she said quietly, her eyes brimming with tears. "I came here for Mr. Murdock. And I am not leaving until I see him."

Decker eyed her carefully, searching for any justification to this sneaking suspicion that she was not all that she appeared to be. "Fine," he granted. "I'll arrange for an escort. And when you're through, I'll have someone drive you to the airport."

She smiled tightly, almost sadly. "Thank you."

***

"You know what I don't understand?"

Hannibal's gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, where he could look Decker in the eye with a smile. "Enlighten me."

"You're not stupid. You knew we were going to be there."

Hannibal didn't answer. He just turned his smile to the window, watching the people on the street and the signs that marked the roads. His calm demeanor didn't betray the racing thoughts in his mind. Beside him, Face was worried. The fact that he was also hiding it didn't make it any less evident to Hannibal. They'd both heard that threat from Ashley. They both knew how limited their time was. They didn't have time to go off to the base and escape from there. They needed to get out of this car.

He glanced at Face, just briefly, and their eyes met. A lot was said in that glance. A lot that was neither spoken nor confirmed. There was no need for words. Their thoughts ran parallel. They were moving closer to the hospital. Once they were as close as they'd get, they would have to move. And it had to be on Face's cue... since the gun was not pointed at him.

The plan - if there even was one - was high risk. It was also the only option they had. They didn't have the kind of time they needed to come up with a better one. They didn't have anyone to rely on to get them out of this mess. All they had was the few minutes from here to there...

Face looked away, again, back out the window. "Come on, Smith," Decker taunted. "Why do all of this?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's pointless and risky."

"I've always loved a bit of pointless risk."

In a part of his mind, Hannibal wondered if he wouldn't be better off letting Decker in on the whole setup. That way, he'd at least have an ally of sorts. Never mind that she'd just been sent off to the hospital with an escort to walk her right through the locked doors and past the guards. Any ally would be useful right now. But at the same time, it would probably be rather pointless. First, Decker would have to believe him. Not too terribly hard. Then he'd have to rely on him to actually do something about it. That part was harder. Decker had the manpower. But when it came right down to it, he didn't have the motivation to stand between a loaded gun and an insane, comatose man who happened to lack a good explanation for why he was here instead of the VA hospital.

"Her name is Ashley Goldman," he answered casually. "I'm surprised you haven't heard of her, Decker. She and those men who were with her have been running an operation a lot like ours for the past few years."

"Not my concern," Decker answered flatly.

"Not mine, either," Hannibal shrugged, glancing at the gun that was pointed at his chest and the man holding it. "But I thought you'd be interested."

Ten blocks from the hospital. Then six. Then they turned off. Hannibal knew that Face had been watching because of the way that his eyes shifted when they started heading the wrong way. An exchanged glance, barely long enough for their eyes to meet, and Face moved.

It was instantaneous. Cuffed wrists around Crane's neck at the same exact moment that Hannibal's hand shot out for the gun. It dropped to the floor at his feet, and the chains around Hannibal's wrists circled Decker's throat as the car careened wildly out of control. Risky. Desperate. People scrambled to get out of the way as the car veered into oncoming traffic, then up onto the sidewalk, and finally crashed, full speed, into the brick building on the left.

***

_"Do you see that, sir?"_

_  
"Just keep driving, Lieutenant..." Colonel Smith's tone was a warning. It was a warning that he heeded out of professional obligation - not to mention _fear_; Colonel Smith's reputation preceded him - but Peck took it with a grain of salt. He still didn't understand exactly how he'd ended up escorting him, of all people, from place to place._

_  
"They look like kids, sir." It was more of a vocalized thought than an attempt to start a conversation. He was surprised when the colonel responded. _

_  
"They _are _kids." Speaking through the cigar that hung out the side of his mouth, the colonel didn't even afford them a glance. His eyes were scanning the trees on the side of the road as he gripped the frame of the jeep with one hand and the handle of his weapon with the other. He had no interest in the two small figures stumbling down the side of the road._

_  
Peck's eyes lingered on him, then shifted back to the road and the children walking. What were they doing out here in the middle of nowhere? As he got closer, his eyes grew wider and his foot instinctively let off the gas pedal. "Sir, they're bleeding!"_

_  
Colonel Smith turned his full attention to the man in the driver's seat, pulling the cigar from his mouth as he glared. "Listen, kid. You been here three weeks. You wanna live to see the next three, you'd better learn to listen to orders. _Keep. _Driving!"_

_  
Peck swallowed hard, and sat up straighter. "Yes, sir." Eyes dead ahead on the road in front of him, he ignored the children to the best of his ability as he hit the accelerator and sped past. But he watched them out of the rear mirror. He watched them as they stopped and gestured wildly into the trees, injuries forgotten. He watched as the colonel's grip tightened on the weapon in his lap. And he heard the sound of the rocket as it came toward them... just before the explosion that sent the jeep flying, end over end, over the dirt road. The last thing he was aware of was the ringing in his ears... and the terrifying notion that he might never wake up again._

"Face!"

His eyes were open before he was conscious. He knew that because of the way Hannibal was staring at him. He'd said something. Something that hadn't been acknowledged. Face blinked, struggling to find his bearings, to find his way out of the confusion. His mind was a complete blank. Where was he? "What happened?"

The crackling sound of fire, shouts and calls... A hand on his shoulder. He was in a vehicle. "You okay?" Hannibal's voice was far from calm, but it wasn't a panic, either. It was a tense concern, pressed for time and out of options.

Face checked himself over. Not enough blood to be concerned about - just the cuts from the shattered window beside him. Bruised, but nothing broken. He had a splitting headache... Must have hit his head. Must have blacked out for a minute. "I think I'm okay."

"Good." Hannibal was already moving. "That fire is in the engine..." Fire. Engine. The Jeep. No… a car. Slowly, he fought through the confusion and forced his body to move, withdrawing his cuffed hands from around the neck of the man in the front seat. "We've got to get out of here."

Face realized, with a strange sort of disconnected apathy, that the adrenaline must be flowing pretty fast and furious in his veins. Because he didn't even feel the glass digging into his hands as he grabbed the opening where the car window had been and pulled himself out, falling headfirst onto the pavement. The horrified spectators kept their distance as he grabbed the door handle and threw it open, and let Hannibal out.

It didn't take an order to tell him to pull Decker and Crane out of the front seat. Thankfully, they were both very much unconscious. They were also an excellent distraction. If anyone even noticed the handcuffs on the wrists of the two "heroes", no one said anything. And no one stopped them as they stepped back, letting the doctor in the crowd take over.

"We need to get to the hospital," Hannibal ordered quickly.

"We need to get these handcuffs off first," Face reminded him, looking around him. There wasn't much in the alley. Certainly nothing he could actually _use_.

He blinked as he suddenly had a pistol dangling in front of his face, held up by Hannibal. "Hurry up," he pressed. "We don't know how long before Decker wakes up."

Face took the gun and maneuvered it as carefully as he could. He stood a few feet back to save Hannibal the powder burns. "Hands flat," he suggested as Hannibal put his arms up against the wall.

The bullet severed the chain between the cuffs cleanly, and Hannibal took the gun. "Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll sleep for a loooong while," Face mumbled, exchanging places with Hannibal, against the wall.

The colonel's shot was just as clean. Immediately, they were both moving. Somebody would've heard the gunshots. Maybe even Decker, if he was awake. They couldn't take that chance. Pulling the sleeves of their jackets down over the cuffs, they started at a jog in the direction of the hospital just as the first sounds of thunder rumbled overhead.


	18. Chapter Sixteen

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

"Tell me you have a plan," Face pleaded, eyes scanning his surroundings as they headed down the street, dodging passers-by.

Hannibal kept a steady pace beside him. "I'm going into the hospital," he answered quietly, not looking in Face's direction. "I'll try to head her off."

"You know Decker's got guards in place."

"Yes, and I also know that she'll be able to walk right past them." His eyes narrowed, a glare at the pavement passing under his feet. "She set that up beautifully. And by the time Decker realizes that there's something to what we told him, it may be too late. She's moving too damn fast." They were going to have to take matters into their own hands – to stop her at all costs.

"What do you want me to do?"

There was a long, hesitant pause before Hannibal answered. But when he did, his voice was firm. "I want you on the balcony."

Face blinked. "The balcony? Of the hotel room?"

"There's an M-21 up there," he reminded, him.

Face stared at him, stunned. But he pulled his jaw up as he realized that the order wasn't over the top. She was going there to kill Murdock. She'd made that clear. Whatever she had needed or wanted him for, either he'd become ineffective as that tool or they'd just pissed her off so much she'd abandoned the plan in favor of something that would give instant gratification to her sadism.

"You really think she'd just walk right in there and kill him?" It was a stupid question. He _knew _she would.

"She'll have an escape plan," Hannibal answered confidently. "But I'm not going to wait around and see what it is." He turned and looked Face directly in the eye. "I want you ready if she gets into that room," he said quietly, firmly. "I'm not going to lose him because we underestimated her."

Face swallowed hard, and nodded in agreement just as the train came to a stop. Then he followed Hannibal out onto the platform, up the steps, and out into the rain that was pounding the streets in a sudden downpour.

***

Hannibal reached the hospital just in time to see Ashley escorted through the front doors. Without thought, he acted. If the MPs weren't there to walk her through the locked and guarded doors, she wouldn't get in. But whether they had orders to protect her, or they were simply acting on instinct, only two of the three men gave chase at the sight of Hannibal. And all she gave was a smile over her shoulder as the remaining MP guided her quickly inside the building.

It took him five minutes to lose his pursuers. Down the alley, in the back door of a restaurant and through a kitchen full of confused cooks. He hid in the restroom instead of passing through, and watched through a crack in the door as they shot through the dining room and out the front doors, looking frantically up and down the street before splitting up. Once they were gone, he went back through the kitchen, and out into the alley again.

His options had become very limited the moment she'd walked into the protected hospital. There was no way to hide Murdock, and no way to stand in front of him. Hannibal was good at distractions. But he wasn't going to distract her. Anything he did was only going to attract the attention of Decker's MPs. They could chase him all the way around the city and the only thing it would accomplish would be to leave Murdock unguarded. That would be even worse than the current situation, if that was possible.

He was out of options. His last resort had become his only resort. He would not stand by and watch helplessly as she put a bullet in his man's head. And he knew she was capable of that. He ignored the chatter in the lobby as he headed for the elevator, and up to the third floor. He wasn't running, not at all looking forward to this moment. But he wasn't moving at a leisurely pace, either.

Face looked up as Hannibal stepped into the room, tossing the keys on top of the neatly-made bed. "Hannibal!" The surprise was evident in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"She's inside the hospital already. I can't get to her."

"Yeah, I know." Face looked back into the room, adjusting the gun carefully on the ledge. "She's inside the room."

Hannibal moved with purpose from the door to the balcony, grabbing the binoculars on the dresser so that he could see her. She wasn't alone. At least, not at first. But then the MP standing with her left the room – probably at her request – and Hannibal growled as he watched her pull a small object from her purse. It was a syringe. One she filled with clear fluid from a tiny glass bottle.

"Warning shot?" Face suggested.

Hannibal considered it. He considered it very carefully as he watched her fill the syringe. What would a warning shot accomplish? Would it deter her to know her life was in danger? Probably. But the other problem, of course, was that if it didn't work, she had a very effective human shield to protect herself from a second shot. All she'd have to do was hide behind the bed. Still, the shot would likely attract the MPs. They'd come in. She would stop.

"Do it. Don't hit her."

The shot went through the window and into the wall, passing a half-inch to the side of her head and shattering the plastic container of used needles attached to the wall. Startled, she looked in the direction that the bullet had come, and found them almost immediately. Before the door had even opened, letting the MPs in, she knew where to send them. They'd stopped her… but only briefly. The problem with attracting attention now was the same problem he had with walking into the hospital: the military police weren't the ones who needed to be distracted.

The MPs escorted her out of the room. Hannibal waited. It was only a moment later that the phone rang. He was waiting for it. "What do you think you're doing?" he greeted, his voice low.

"He's a lousy shot, Colonel," Ashley's voice snapped back. "I would've expected more."

"He wasn't aiming for your head. Next time, he will be."

The sound that answered him was something like a laugh, mixed with a reflective "hmm." "He'd better," she challenged. "Because you only have so long before you have to start running again. And don't think that I'll change my mind about this one. Like I said… you made your own bed this time."

His eyes narrowed into slits as he considered her threat. And his own. "Do you have a death wish, Miss Goldman?" he shot back at her.

"Hardly."

"There's a reason why they call it suicide by cop when you walk into a gun that's pointed at your head."

She laughed. "I'll take my chances."

"Don't make me kill you," he warned. "And don't think that I won't."

"You?" she challenged. "Oh, I know you would. But you're not the one holding the gun, are you?"

The line went dead in his hand before he had a chance to reply. Something was wrong. There was a card she hadn't shown him yet. It wasn't surprising; he'd not known what to expect from her for some time now. But she was confident, and he was suddenly unsure. If this wasn't a suicide attempt, she was at the very least playing Russian roulette. Why was she so convinced that Face wouldn't shoot her?

He didn't have time to ask. The MPs were filing out of the hospital. It wouldn't take them long to get into the building, and up to the room. He set the phone back down in the cradle, and turned toward the balcony. It was only a moment later that an unescorted Ashley walked back into the room with Murdock.

"Do it," Hannibal ordered.

Face looked back, over his shoulder. "Colonel?" he asked, brows raised.

Hannibal walked back to the balcony, about the same time that he heard the heavy boots on the hallway outside. "Drop her," he commanded. "She's going to kill him."

"Why would - "

"It doesn't matter why!" Hannibal interrupted. He pointed behind him at the door. "When they come through that door, he's at her mercy. Not a damn thing we can do about it."

Face stared at him for a long, lingering moment. Then, he turned and looked back through the scope on top of the rifle. Hannibal raised the binoculars to his face and watched through them as she approached the bedside again. She was moving slowly, and he wondered if it was part of the deadly game she was playing or if she was just buying time until the MPs came crashing through that door. He could hear them outside.

"Faaace?"

"Working on it."

She raised the syringe up in front of her face and tapped the air out of it. What was in that syringe? He couldn't know that it was deadly. But he couldn't know that it wasn't. There were more variables at work here than he could keep straight in his mind. Two things, he knew: Murdock's life was in their hands and it was only a matter of time before the men in the hallway found the door they were looking for.

"You've got about ten seconds, Lieutenant."

Through the haze of rain, he took a few seconds to study his man. Face's jaw was set, his eyes glued to the scope. "Do you want it done now?" Face challenged. "Or do you want it done right?"

They didn't have time for this. "Five seconds."

"_Stop_ it!"

Hannibal blinked in surprise at the tension in his voice. What was wrong with him? "Face?"

"Yes, Colonel?" he replied calmly. Hannibal could barely hear him over the rain.

"What is _wrong_?"

_"You're not the one holding the gun, are you?" _He could feel his muscles tightening as a sickening feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He was not in control of this situation. He wasn't sure where, when, or how he'd lost that control, but he had most definitely lost his grip and now these events seemed to be snowballing out of control. Face was a damn good shot, and they both knew it. He could take her out in two seconds and they'd be long gone – down the side of the building? – before the door behind him opened. So why was he hesitating?

A part of him realized, with some dissociated section of his mind, that he'd just given an order to kill a civilian. Maybe it was even worse than that. She was one of them – an Army sergeant, discharged or not. Was this friendly fire? Except that she was not at all friendly. And the fire would not be accidental. She had made the choice to set herself against them as an enemy. She'd killed them first. Whether she had been the one to pull the trigger or not, she was responsible for BA's death. And now, standing over Murdock, he had no doubt in his mind that she would kill him. And if she didn't succeed now, she could very likely come back and try again. He didn't know what to expect from her. But he was not one to play Russian roulette. Not with the lives of his men.

"I can't take the shot."

"What do you mean you can't take the shot?"

"I can't."

"I can see her from here. Your path is clear."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean, Lieutenant?"

A feeling almost like panic was creeping into his chest as his brain raced, a mile a minute, over any other possible course of action. If Face couldn't – or _wouldn't _– take the shot, he still had to do _something_. She was moving toward Murdock again. Right to the edge of the bed. "Damn it!"

He knew he was without option. But it wasn't _in _him to stand by and idly watch her murder someone – especially not if that someone was Murdock. Grabbing the M-16 out of the corner, he pulled his leg up onto the balcony ledge to brace. "Don't." Face's voice was flat, but not calm. "They're out of range; you know that." That cold, calculated tone Hannibal knew he _should _be hearing was not what he _was _hearing. He was hearing hesitation. Nervousness. Uncertainty.

He had to break him. Break through that emotion – whatever it was – and those thought processes that made him unable to pull that trigger. "Face!"

Nothing.

Hannibal dared a glance across the street at the woman who was calmly, dramatically turning Murdock's arm over, holding the needle in her fingers. "Peck! _Shoot,_ damn it!"

The sound of the gun firing elicited a sigh of relief, a jump of surprise, and a flash of anger all at once. But he didn't have time to process any of it. The pounding on the door warned that they were out of time. He grabbed Face by the arm, jerking him out of position and to the end of the balcony. The rifle clattered noisily to the cement floor. "Come on!"

The drop to the balcony beneath them was easy. Getting through the locked doors into the room would've been more difficult if not for the gun still hanging around Hannibal's neck. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces as Hannibal opened fire on the thick double panes, aiming up so as not to hit anyone who might be inside.

But there was no one inside. He bolted through the room, Face right on his heels, and out into the hallway. It was empty. It wouldn't be for long. He sprinted to the stairwell. But instead of going down, to the street, he headed up. It was the opposite of what they would expect, and the surest way to avoid a gunfight on the crowded city streets. Besides. He wasn't going far. Not yet. He'd only had a fraction of a second to look back into the hospital room. But it was long enough to show him that the bullet had not hit her head. It had hit her chest. Whether she was alive or dead was anyone's guess. But that had not been a shot guaranteed to kill.

***

Face's back hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. The back of his skull jarred against the brick, and he held off the instinct to fight back. "What the hell is the matter with you!" Hannibal yelled.

His jaw set, Face closed his eyes, unwilling to look at Hannibal's expression.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"No, it's not -"

"Or did you somehow fail to notice that she was about to kill him!"

"She's pregnant, Hannibal!" Face yelled back, feeling the anger and confusion swirl inside of him. He used it as fuel, and opened his eyes to glare back at the face of his C.O.

Hannibal growled. Face could see the pieces come together in his mind. "I don't care if she's pregnant, Lieutenant," he snapped. "And I don't care if you fucked her, and I don't care if she's five years old with big, pretty, brown eyes! When I give you an order I expect that you will listen!"

He shoved him, hard, to the side. Face stumbled as he struggled to catch his balance. A little unsteady on the slippery rooftop, he turned his head to glare daggers at the man standing in front of him. "This isn't Vietnam, Colonel."

"And I'd be willing to bet that wasn't saline she was about to put in his vein, either!"

Face remained hunched over, hands on his knees, eyes on his opponent as the rain pounded his back. His face was expressionless.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Hannibal demanded. "You would stand there and watch her kill him?"

"No!" Face cried. "And I didn't!"

Hannibal's eyes narrowed. "You never should've hesitated, damn it," he growled. "I should never have to worry about you hesitating on something that important. I swear to God, Face, if I can't trust you – if I can't know that you are going to do whatever it takes to protect your team, you need to turn around and walk the hell away, and never cross my path again."

He took a single, determined step closer and Face stood up straight. "And don't think," Hannibal yelled, "that you're so goddamn special that I couldn't replace you with someone who can follow orders and keep his priorities straight!"

Face glared back. "Good luck with that," he shot back, biting sarcasm lacing his anger. "Sir."

The added formality was a gesture of contempt that Hannibal rose to, staring him down. "I chose you, Peck, not the other way around. And don't you fucking forget it!"

Face held his ground. "You're going to have a really hard time selling this life to anyone who's not already a wanted fugitive."

"I would rather be short one man than have a man on my team that I can't trust," Hannibal growled.

Face felt his anger overflow. "I've got news for you, Hannibal, you're already down two men! Without me, there is no team. I'm the only thing left in the world you've got. And if you don't know me well enough by now to know that you can trust me, why the hell am I standing here instead of a balcony in Paris!"

"Why are you?" Hannibal challenged.

Face stepped forward, meeting him halfway, and the two men stood nose to nose. "Don't you think, Hannibal, that I'm still here because I think it's fun or because I've got nowhere else to go. I'm here because I would die for any man on this team."

"That's not what I saw back there."

"You have no idea what you saw back there," Face growled back. "You're so lost in your methods and your fucking plans I wonder if you even realize that you just wanted me to execute -"

Hannibal grabbed the wet collar of Face's shirt, jerking him off balance. In the same instant, Face had his fist raised and pulled back. The look in his eyes was almost crazed. For a long moment, they stood staring at each other.

"Let me set one thing straight," Face growled. "I follow your orders because I trust you. Not because I have to. So don't even let it enter your mind that I would shoot the woman who's carrying my child just because you're standing there calling me a soldier!"

"No, you've got it wrong, Face," Hannibal hissed back. "I'm not the reason you needed to make that shot. Murdock is."

"And I took care of Murdock."

"Maybe. For the moment. Maybe not. You let her get so close to him it's kind of hard to tell if she was able to pull herself up off the floor and finish what she'd started after you shot her in the shoulder."

"Well, if you wanted her dead so badly, why wasn't it you holding that gun?"

"Because I trusted you!" Hannibal shoved him so hard he nearly fell over backwards. "Because by the time I realized you weren't worthy of that trust, there wouldn't have been time for me to set up that shot even if it hadn't been windy and raining!"

"You wanted me to take an innocent life."

"Ashley is _not_ innocent."

"I'm not talking about Ashley."

Hannibal glared at him. "Tell me this, Face. Would you feel that way if it was somebody else who'd knocked her up?"

"I don't know," Face admitted, his voice still cold. "It's a moot point. Because it wasn't someone else."

"You don't even know that," Hannibal sneered.

Face shot him a sarcastic, angry look. "The timeline fits. And you heard what her guy said when we - "

"With everything you know about this girl," Hannibal interrupted, "did you ever once stop to think that she might've just played you on this whole damn thing?"

"It occurred to me," Face answered coldly. "But it's _not _a risk I'm willing to take."

"She might not even be pregnant."

"I saw the test."

"Did you see her take it?"

"Of course not."

Hannibal took a step forward. "She pinned you to the goddamn wall and you just stood there and let her do it. And whether she is or isn't carrying a baby that may or may not be yours, she did openly threaten Murdock and you let her do it. And she knew you would."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean she played you like a fucking violin, Face. Whether or not it's even true, she knew you so well she was willing to put her life on the line. And don't think that she would've shed a single tear if she'd gotten away with it, because she wouldn't have!"

Face glared at him. Finally, he shut his eyes, forcing his way through the haze of thoughts as he tried desperately to regain his ground. More now than ever before, he had to know what the hell was going on inside of that woman's head. And he would know. If it killed him, he would find out.

"I'll take care of it."

"You'd better," Hannibal shot back. "Because if he dies? I'm holding you personally responsible."

***

"So what is this?"

Ashley's eyes snapped open at the sound of the familiar voice. She hadn't even heard the door open. But there he stood, holding a syringe filled with clear fluid in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. She took in a breath as she opened her mouth, and immediately found herself looking down the barrel of a pistol less than three feet from her forehead.

"Don't," he said flatly.

He must have known she was about to scream. The sound caught in her throat, and she stared at him, eyes wide. Then, slowly, she regained her composure. "You wouldn't dare," she said confidently.

"Why?" he challenged. "Because I'm not willing to take the risk that you might be telling the truth about being pregnant?"

She studied him carefully, weighing his words and his tone. She could hear the skepticism, but he wasn't convinced either way. She didn't bother to convince him. "Because if you shoot me, the guard right outside the door is going to hear it."

"What guard?"

She glared at him. "I know there's a guard out there."

"Well, if there is," he started, "how do you account for the fact that all I needed was a dozen roses to waltz right into your room?"

She blinked, startled. She didn't have an answer to that. And he didn't wait for one. "And in any case, you make a sound and you're dead. Whether or not they'd respond won't make a damn bit of difference for you."

"You'd risk your freedom just to shoot me?" she smirked.

"You risked your life to try and kill my friend," he pointed out without the slightest hint of a smile. "It's only fair."

"Your friend," she repeated with a grin. "Aww... that's so sweet."

For an answer, he pulled back the hammer on the gun that was aimed at her left eye. The smile gradually fell from her face, and she sighed. "So why are you here?" she demanded. She looked up at him. "Because if it was just to kill me, you would've done that already."

He watched her, silent, for a long moment. Then, slowly, he lowered the gun and took a step closer to the side of the bed. "I want to know why."

"Why what?"

He glared. "Don't get cute with me, Ashley," he warned. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not in the mood."

"Ooh, scary. Did you work on that one all night?"

He stared at her, wondering if she realized that she sounded like a spoiled thirteen-year-old. Just like a child, with a witty comeback to mumble under her breath at any authority that got in her way. Did she not even realize the seriousness of her current situation? Maybe she really did have a death wish.

"Why, Ashley." It wasn't a question. It was a demand. "Why do all this? What was your plan?"

"Do you want the whole plan? Or the abridged version?"

"Just start talking. You'll know when I've heard enough."

She stared back at him for a long moment. Then she looked away. "If I tell you, what's to stop you from killing me?"

He shook his head. "I'll be perfectly honest with you," he replied. "This is the needle I got out of Murdock's room. It's going in your arm." He glanced briefly at the syringe in his hand. "I don't know what it is, and frankly, I don't care." She eyed the syringe warily. "I'm just giving you the opportunity to speak your peace before that happens. Because you went through a lot of trouble to get even with me. And I don't even know who the hell you are."

She was quiet for a moment. "You know, somehow, this isn't how I envisioned this conversation happening." She looked up at him, pausing. "I always thought it would be me standing over you in a hospital bed, holding the needle, so to speak."

"Then I guess this is particularly ironic, isn't it?"

"So." She rested her head back. "Why. Where should I start?"

"Start with how I'm supposed to know you."

"You're not supposed to know me," she corrected. "I'd never seen you before in my life when I met with you in that theatre."

"So how is it that your grudge was ten years old by then?"

She stared at him, studying his face carefully, as if she was waiting for a dawn of recognition that would never come. "You have no idea what you did to my family, do you?"

"I'm afraid not."

She sighed. "My father was very wealthy. When my mother married him, she signed a prenuptial agreement stating - among other things - that if they ever divorced because she had an affair, she would get nothing."

She paused, and his eyes narrowed as he studied her. "Lots of people do that, Ashley. What the hell does it have to do with me?"

"By the time I was old enough to have memories," she continued, "my father was an asshole. He cheated on her, time after time, bringing these random women into the house. Into her bed. But she was too scared to leave him. Too scared to leave the money, really."

"Sounds like your father's the one you should be pissed off at."

"It wasn't until I was fifteen that I finally convinced her to kick his ass to the curb." Her gaze toward him turned to a look of pure hate. "And then you came along."

Face watched her carefully. He didn't know where she was going with this. But he sure as hell didn't like that tone in her voice, or that dark look that had just come over her eyes. He felt his shoulders knot up, tension seeping deep into his muscles as she continued. "You came along, and she fell head over heels for you," Ashley whispered. "And you played her. And you lied to her. And you used her. And the whole time, he was gathering evidence so that when it came time for the divorce to be finalized, he was able to blame her and take everything."

A flicker of a memory shot through Face's mind. Vague. A woman's face. But the details had been lost through the years. "Six months later, after you'd left my mother with nothing, I came to find out you'd actually made a deal with my father. An exchange of favors. I found that out shortly after she slit her wrists in the bathtub of that little shack she lived in, after coming home from a day of work at McDonalds. For three dollars an hour."

Exchange of favors...

_"What do you want?"_

_  
He laughed. The man talked like he was asking him to kill someone. It was just a con, same as any other. "What do you mean what do I want?"_

_  
"I can pay you."_

_  
Face put an arm around the man's shoulders. "Look, we're friends, right?"_

_  
"Right..." Hesitation. Face heard it as clear as day._

_  
"Well, you scratch my back, I scratch yours." He smiled as he gestured, walking alongside the in-ground swimming pool. "This'll be my favor to you and someday in the future, if I ever need the favor returned..."_

"I asked him how much he'd paid you." Ashley's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present. "How much my mother's life was worth. And I found out that he didn't pay you a dime. I guess that stung almost as bad as what you did. You just exchanged favors. I'm sure you called it in sooner or later. What did her life buy you in the end?"

"Dashiell Goldman," Face recalled hesitantly. "You're Dashiell Goldman's daughter. From Peach-Pear Management."

"Ah, see?" she smiled. "You do remember."

He frowned. "I didn't even know he had a daughter."

Her smile dropped instantly. "There were a lot of things you didn't know," Ashley shot, cynically. "Didn't stop you from destroying my life. Or ending hers."

"So this whole thing," he mumbled. "You planned this for ten years to avenge your mother?"

"Pretty ingenious, isn't it?" She smirked. "I thought you'd appreciate it. What with your... flair for the dramatic and all."

"Where'd you get the money?"

She laughed. "My father and I are back on speaking terms now. I needed his money, after all. I also needed to know who was responsible for coming up with this brilliant scheme."

"Look, I didn't kill your mother," he stated. "How was I supposed to know she was going to kill herself?"

"The point is that you didn't care," she stated. "Not that you didn't know. None of us knew. But I would've done anything, given anything, to stop it. And you, clearly, wouldn't have."

"I hardly even knew her."

"You knew her well enough to fuck her." Face stared at her, reading the cold and lonely look in her eyes. "Well enough to make her fall in love with you. To throw it all away on some elaborate scam you worked up. And for what? You still haven't told me what it bought you."

Face was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he lowered his eyes away from her, just briefly. "Listen," he started hesitantly. "What you have done here is completely and unforgivably wrong."

"Look who's talking," she answered coldly.

He looked back up. "Let me make this perfectly clear," he continued slowly. "I can try to understand why you did it. But I don't forgive you." He turned away and grabbed her purse. "So here's how this is going to end. You're going to write a check for one million dollars, made out to cash, and then you're going to call the bank to confirm it." He found her checkbook and tossed it at her. "That's six hundred thousand to clear the debts we've incurred since taking this job, plus our original agreed-upon amount, enough to cover any and all expenses that Murdock is going to incur while he's here in this hospital, and at least a hundred thousand dollars for the mother of the man that you killed."

Her hand rested on the checkbook, but she didn't open it. "And if I don't?"

"You will," he answered confidently, his voice as dark and threatening as his look. "Because if you don't, I will let you walk out of this hospital. And I will come and find you someday when there's no one around to hear you scream. So help me, Ashley... I will show you just how unforgiving I can be."

She stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she opened the checkbook. He tossed her a pen from the contents of the purse as he stood still, holding the gun on her.

Face was quiet for a long moment as she wrote and signed the check. But the longer he stood there, contemplating his next words, the more reasons came to mind for why none of this made a damn bit of difference. "Why did you kill BA?" he demanded. "If your problem was with me, you had plenty of opportunity to kill me. He had nothing to do with this."

Her eyes narrowed, flashing hatred. "Because then you would never know what this feels like, you bastard. Losing the people you care about is so much harder than dying yourself. You ought to know that."

"And Murdock? You _didn't _kill him. Why?"

She ripped the check out of the book and held it out to him. "Because I thought it would be much more effective to pin his death on you. Since he's not even part of your team, officially."

Face growled under his breath. "How the hell did you expect to do that?"

"Actually, you made it easy. Colonel Decker knows you're hanging around here. You even caused an explosion in the last hospital. What's to say you weren't aiming to kill the one man who could be turned against you? And what's to say you wouldn't succeed the next time?"

Face felt indignant anger flare up inside of him at the mere suggestion. "Even Decker knows that's not the way we work."

She sighed contentedly, a faint smile on her face. "Well, we'll never know now, will we?"

Face kept his anger under control by sheer force of will as he took the check and grabbed her wrist. Her eyes flashed as she glared at him. "Go ahead," she hissed. "I wouldn't even feel it. And people have been martyred for less."

"A martyr?" he challenged. "That's how you see yourself?"

"Oh, yes," she smiled. "And rest assured, Face, my friends will see it much the same way. If I die, you'll be having problems with them for the rest of your short and miserable lives."

"I'll take my chances."

The faint smile on her face made him wonder if she was too doped up on painkillers to even understand what was happening. She shut her eyes again as she took in a deep, slow breath. She didn't fight him, only watched his face as he filled her arm with the same concoction – whatever it was – that she had tried to put into his friend. She smiled once the syringe was empty. A wicked smile that suggested she knew full well what had just happened. "Just think, Face," she whispered. "Now when they call you a murderer… you can know how right they are."

"This is war, Ashley," he clarified. "You made it that way when you started killing us."

Her eyes slid closed once more, and he stood, moving to the door as the heart monitor flickered irregularly. The last words on her lips, before he turned and hurried out of the room, were a whispered, "Fuck you."


	19. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

Hannibal was awakened by the sound of gunfire, and fought the urge to hit the floor. It only took him a few seconds to realize that the sound had come from the television. His heart slowed gradually as he found the remote at the side of the hospital bed and turned it down. What a way to wake up…

His eyes drifted to the clock, and he realized he should be glad for the wakeup call. It was almost time for the nurse to come in and check on him. Hannibal would have to be gone when she got there. The routine was well-established: room check at 2000 and again at 0300 and then shift change at 0700. He usually just ducked behind the window curtains for the mid-shift check. But he was gone before the morning nurse came in.

Murdock had been transferred to the VA hospital in Chicago just as soon as the paperwork was sorted. Two months later, Decker had given up on the idea that anyone would come looking for him. The fact that Hannibal and Face were still living and operating in LA probably had something to do with that. Now the room was unguarded, and they both came and went as they pleased during the day – when they came out to Chicago. But the nurses didn't want them here at night. Hannibal came in through the window if he had to. And Face did the same thing on nights when he came up to the hospital.

Hannibal was also feeling guilty. He and Face had to work – in the three weeks of directionless waiting before they'd determined that fact, they almost killed each other while arguing over stupid shit on two separate occasions. Their base of operations had long ago been established in LA. But between jobs, they were always in Chicago. While in LA, nothing felt right anymore. In many respects, they were incapacitated by the fact that they were missing half of the team. When they came back to Chicago, they spent as much time at the hospital as they could.

Every time he walked – or climbed – in, Hannibal's mind played the same cruel trick on him. Maybe this time, Murdock would be awake. Maybe this time would be the beginning of recovering at least some of what they had lost. But it had been six months. Murdock hadn't woken up.

Hannibal paused at the window, looking out at the lightening sky to the east. Another day was dawning. Tomorrow they would go back to LA. They would say goodbye to BA's mother – with whom they had bonded rather closely since her son's death – and get on board a commercial flight back to the West Coast. Every time they did this monotonous routine, he hated it more. He closed his eyes as he took in a deep breath and let it out slow.

_Murdock, I wish you'd just wake up…_

***

Face didn't bother to stop off at the nurses' station. He had little interest in them. Instead, he walked directly to the door of Murdock's room and found it half open. As he stepped inside, he immediately knew something was different. It took him a moment to figure out what it was. The machines. The tubes. The one in Murdock's mouth was missing. Something had changed, for better or worse.

Face was torn between the logic of making a beeline for the nurses' station to find out exactly what had changed and the instinct to approach the bed and see for himself. He chose the latter, and stepped closer, carefully. "Murdock?"

He was hoping against hope, and he knew it. Just because Murdock was breathing on his own didn't mean that everything was all better again. Two weeks since he'd been in. What could change in two weeks? Face watched him carefully, reaching out a hand and placing it on his forehead. His skin was warm – warmer than it had been in months. Another flicker of hope. "Murdock? Are you awake?"

Face's heart leapt into his throat as he saw Murdock's eyelids flutter and slowly part. The rush of adrenaline was like parachuting out of a plane for the first time – freefalling to earth and knowing that the worst of it was over.

"Murdock! You're awake!"

"Nnnh... not so loud." His voice was weak and cracked, barely above a whisper. He winced as he turned his head away. "I feel like shit… Can't hardly move…"

"Thank God you're okay."

"Nnnh hnn..." He opened his eyes halfway. "I got a headache the size of Mount Everest, Face," he slurred. "So damn bright in here…"

It wasn't all that bright in the room. "Did they give you anything for it? Are you on painkillers?" Face immediately headed to the chart hanging at the foot of the bed.

"Nnnh, they gotta get a doctor's order to give me a Tylenol. And I didn't want the morphine."

Face stared at him for a moment. That seemed ridiculous. "I'll get you a Tylenol if you want it."

Murdock breathed deep, his chest rising and falling. He didn't answer the implied question. Eyes closed again, he continued in a whisper. "Has Decker been in here?"

"Not recently. You've been asleep for a long time, Murdock."

The mumble/growl/moan that answered him wasn't coherent. All he caught of it was something to the effect of "talk to him" and "drugged" and "don't worry." For Face, it was enough that Murdock was alive and speaking, regardless of what he was saying.

"I need to call Hannibal. He'll want to know you're awake."

"Hey, Face?"

Face paused with his hand on the phone. "What?"

Very slowly, Murdock's eyes opened and he tipped his head back to look up at the man standing over him. "You missed."

Face blinked, surprised and confused as he let his hand drop back to his side and turned to face Murdock. "What? Missed what?"

"The... the shot. You missed."

Face's first thought was of a hypodermic needle. It took him a moment to comprehend what Murdock was saying. When he did, his eyes widened.

"You never miss."

Face stared at him, dumbfounded. "You were awake for that?"

Murdock didn't answer the question. Instead, he posed one of his own. "Why'd you miss, Face?"

Face opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again as he came up short of an answer. A long, lingering silence filled the room, and Face lowered his eyes. He hadn't even thought of how he would answer that question; he had no reply ready.

"I..." he hesitated. "It... was raining. And I couldn't see very well and - "

"No," Murdock interrupted in something that sounded more like a moan than a word. Face looked up at him again and saw him staring back, his eyes half-lidded and tired. "No, Face. You missed." His voice dropped to a whisper as if it took too much effort to speak. "Why'd you miss?"

"I told you, I didn't - "

"Yeah, you told me, now tell me the truth."

Silence. "There's a reason you got assigned where you did. With who you did. There's a reason you made it to the team, Face." He gasped a few breaths, and shut his eyes hard with the effort. "You don't miss." But in spite of the obvious exhaustion, he reached up a hand – the one with tubes running into the back of it – and grabbed Face's jacket with a weak grip. He held it as he dragged his eyes up to meet his friend's. "Why'd you miss?"

Face took in a long, slow breath. How could he answer that? How could he _possibly _answer that? "I don't know," he finally offered. "I'm sorry."

Murdock let his hand drop, and breathed as deeply and slowly as he could. "Where is she?"

Face hesitated before answering. "She's gone," he finally assured his friend.

"Mmm." Murdock let his eyes slide closed. "Good. Face?"

"Hmm?"

"I think next time… I'm staying home."

Face lowered his head as he nodded, though he knew Murdock couldn't see. "I would too, if I were you," he admitted quietly.

Murdock turned his head away and took one more deep breath before he slowly, quietly, drifted off again.


End file.
